The Boy Who Died
by Silirt
Summary: A true single point of departure leads to a world without Harry. Changes compound- and no one is safe.
1. Prologue: All Saints' Day

Vernon Dursley liked to say his family was perfectly normal, thank you very much.

It was quite a shock when an old man in a robe came asking for his wife, more confusing still that he was here to inform her about the death of her sister.

"Petunia!" He called through the house. "It's one of them!" With the knowledge of what news was expected, he momentarily considered calling out a "Good news!" to excite her, but declined the opportunity for two reasons. Firstly, Petunia would hardly wish to seem indecorous, no matter who was the visitor, and he reasonably decided that revealing his expectation of her delight at the Potter woman's death would not be the height of decorum.

More importantly, when wizards came by, it was never really good news.

Albus Dumbledore, as he introduced himself, entered quietly as the lady of the house set to making tea, possibly out of habit. For a moment it impressed him, the way she treated even an unwanted guest, and he showed the robed figure to the sitting room, switching off the television.

"It is with a heavy heart I must inform you of the murder of your sister last night. A dark wizard, the worst in many years, ended her life after killing her husband and from what we understand she stood in front of the crib of her infant son as she died." If the older man expected this to elicit some sort of response, Vernon expected he would be disappointed. All the same, it seemed the moment to say something.

"I see."

"She was a brave witch to her final hour, and while I understand you are no longer close, there are things that remain to be arranged." The cogs in Vernon Dursley's skull turned rapidly, piecing together the wizard's most likely purpose in entering his domicile.

"You're here to drop off the kid, then, is that it? Some sort of next of kin regulation? You know, _sir_ , I may have not made it quite clear the way I-"

"I am afraid I can do nothing of the sort. Regrettably, the yet unrecognized heroism of James and Lilly Potter was in an ultimately futile effort. Neither her son nor his killer survived the night, both would be discovered within moments by a very sad man who may have ended his life had I not taken him to intensive care at Saint Mungo's. It is my belief that some protective magic reflected the killing curse back upon its caster, who in turn possessed some cursed talisman enabling him to hold on long enough to set the little home ablaze. Harry Potter died painfully, his small corpse almost entirely unrecognizable." Dumbledore momentarily looked around the room, drawing what appeared to be a lemon drop from his coat and eating it without ceremony. There was no doubt in Vernon's mind that the old man had not expected him to understand any of what he had just said, except possibly enough to rouse some guilt.

"If you expect-" the wizard simply raised a hand, which stopped him from talking entirely.

"My apologies. It appears my presence here has been a disturbance in your quiet happiness, sequestered from my world and its affairs. You will, to my disappointment, not be able to raise the Potter boy as your own, his life and suffering have already ended. I hope you are as happy as his parents, as somewhere they are already reunited with him, as whatever world lies beyond welcomes a small family too good for this one. In their short lives they made many friends, became two of the best students to ever attend my school, and fought bravely to their dying breaths." The robed man rose, more quickly than Vernon might have thought possible. "I shall waste no more of your time in living the best lives you can." He rose and drew a wooden instrument from his robes.

"Yes, fine, and if you, ever, find a need to contact us again-"

"I shall not hesitate to send an owl. You may find it a great wonder how many I can send when I mean to." The wizard disappeared, taking the tea with him. From the looks of the sugar, he had added a considerable amount at some point or another.

"Might have gone worse, I suppose," he said, looking to his wife, who had not once broken her silence. While he usually lead discussions, Vernon had expected some input. The two of them had long since agreed that they had had enough of wizards, magic, and Petunia's side of the family, dead or otherwise. At the same time- his wife was a sensitive soul, prone to crying occasionally and it occurred to him she might actually be in some momentary mourning.

"I... I didn't always hate her," she said softly. "As girls we got along fine. It was when she got that.. that cursed letter and that despicable boy arrived." He imagined an owl with a larger than life letter in its beak and a small James Potter. That was when things changed. "Did you hear how that man was talking down to us like that?" Vernon had not noticed it. He supposed the man had a voice that could make anything sound like a kindness. "The boy- _Severus_ , he would do it all the time. He told my sister she deserved better."

"Severus? Probably thought _he_ was what she deserved. Mad little fool, what the bloody hell kind of name is that anyway? Then again, if your sister was convinced, why not let her run off to whatever it was he would have done." It occurred to him he would not have said as such had it been his sister, normal or otherwise. "Look, darling- whatever she was, she is no more. She and her damnable husband are out of our hair for good."

"I suppose so. Would it trouble you too greatly if we were to go to the funeral?" she asked, almost entirely out of the blue.

"I'll have to think about it," Vernon answered diplomatically. "Someone will have to watch Dudley; can't leave him alone more than a Canadian summer or he'll wake the dead with his screaming. Stout little voice. Beginning to grow on me." Petunia seemed to collect herself somewhat.

"Thank you, Verny, you've been a wonderful sport about all these recent developments. It may be they _neglect to invite_ me; it would hardly be the first time, so we'll have all the more time with our perfect son in that case. All the same, if they do send an invitation, it would be my duty to go, and I would feel better to have you with me."

"Of course, sweetums."

It was settled in Vernon's mind that there was absolutely no cause for concern. He looked through the mail in the morning, most calls went to his work phone, and he had every confidence wizards had as little idea of how to use computers as he did. The machines would never replace good old common sense, however hard they seemed to be trying.

The following day there was a particularly odd missive with green text in the letterbox. Briefly looking it over, he decided against opening it, as it doubtlessly came from one of _their_ sort. If anything, it only confirmed what he had been thinking. Stuffing it in his breast pocket, he forgot about it and went about his day at the electric tool sales department.

"Nothing to worry about, thank you very much," he muttered to himself delightedly.

At home things took an unexpected turn.

He found Petunia as always in the sitting room, but the normality ended there.

"Dearest, it appears we have received the invitation," she began, handing him a cup of tea. He was glad he had not been drinking it because he might have spit it out. There was a degree of oddity he had been willing to accept for his lovely wife in light of the circumstances, and it seemed to simply have been exceeded by leaps and bounds. The wizarding world seemed averse to taking normality into account, and he would suffer it no longer.

All the same, a question remained.

 _They sent another copy?_

He could hardly check his pocket for a letter without arousing suspicion and decided to put it off. No, what was he thinking, of course it was another copy- then again, you never knew with these _wizards._

"Sweetums, I'm beginning to think better of it. Suppose they turn you into a newt."

"That would be simply dreadful!" Petunia responded, her expression one of abject shock. "What kind of mother could I be as a newt? I don't suppose there's a parenting book on the subject?" _Well that was easier than I thought._

"Really, we're without a recourse against them. Don't answer to laws like sensible people- it's better just to leave them in the madhouse they've made."

All went well for the next three hours or so, at least as far as Vernon could tell. Then a pile of letters appeared under the slot.

"What in damnation- they're all the same- and at this hour? Why? What's the damn point? It's only been a day, hasn't it?" All at once a hundred mad notions flooded his mind, each less likely than the last. "Did they expect some sort of response? Do they know if it's been opened or not? But then Petunia opening it would have done it- they could be here- invisible- somewhere in the house and we wouldn't know a thing- or they could be in our minds."

Vernon Dursley decided he had already had quite enough of magic, thank you very much.

Boarding up the slot was easy enough- what raised concern was when they came through windows he could have sworn he had already shut. They did not follow him to work; no, he had some idea they wanted to keep their whole damnable operation secret- probably knew what kind of hellfire awaited them if any decent people got wind of their sort. He amused himself with ideas of the Americans and the Russians fighting over the last wizard, presumably for testing purposes. It had already occurred to him to reveal their secrets, but in some bardic irony it would be he who would be thrown into the madhouse. There was a near certainty of those men being in government- it was the only way to explain the new tax bill, as near as he and Petunia could figure. Either way, they had to have something to do if a normal man were to expose them- and whatever it was it would be far from ideal.

Arriving at home he could hardly be bothered to check the letterbox, he had every expectation it was stuffed with those same damnable missives. Vernon had considered leaving late with a couple of mates, but it was his duty to return to the loony bin that the old wizard had made of his house- he could hardly let his wife suffer it alone.

"Vernon, I can't take it anymore," Petunia cried as he entered, hanging his hat. Looking around, it appeared the walls had been quite literally papered with letters. The text on each page had switched to red.

"Who the hell has the time to write all these bloody letters?!" He shouted, opening the refrigerator to see a dozen or so more spill out. He had never expected the wizard to be _reasonable_ , but the pace of the escalation raised questions. Checking a copy he had found set at each of the three places at the table, it was apparent that the date was soon- present, even.

"The funeral's tonight, dearest- I've cleared the calendar- can you believe their nerve, they wrote 'read letter' on every day before this one!"

"Tonight? That means it's our last day of these damnable things!" Vernon shouted excitedly, his mood brightening as the cogs turned rapidly. "What could that loony old man possibly do in the next few hours before he runs out of a reason to continue?"

"Dearest, this one says they've already moved the date and won't hesitate to do it again."

In response he exploded, tearing letters to shreds, in his fit of rage unable to discern its direction.

"Sweetums, this isn't your fault," he said quickly and quietly, noticing her fingers go up to an eye. "You just happen to be related to a witch- a dead one, anyway."

"I know, I know, I just can't help but feel like they're putting all this on you because of me."

"Well- not to worry- we go, they see us, and we leave at the earliest opportunity."

It was settled, more or less.

They were dressed professionally. The driving instructions were surprisingly easy to understand, as though whoever had written them had driven a car before, which was, as he understood it, a decidedly uncommon practice among their sort. A parking spot was available in the little village out in West Country, and the drive was shorter than expected, or at least it seemed that way. Vernon nearly noted it seemed they were walking into a trap, but decided not to upset his wife further.

They found the gathered wizards rather easily, though as he looked around the signs in the little town, it was clear this was one of _their_ places.

"Suppose they had to live somewhere. Isn't this around where your sister lived?"

"I believe so... it seems I can't quite remember," she responded as she clung to him, the chill of the air apparent. "I might have been over when their son was born... or near then."

The service started quietly, statues being carved out of hewn stone by magic. Vernon's head was on a swivel trying to process all that was going on, but Petunia stared straight ahead. He expected she did not notice when the old wizard from before looked their way and _smiled_ , whatever the reason was. Out of place in the crowd of robed figures, he supposed the old loon was just happy he had successfully coerced the two of them into going. Vernon had not expected to see anyone he recognized, but over his shoulder he spotted Arabella Figg, the cat lady from a few properties over. _Suppose a few of them have to be hiding in plain sight._

Albus Dumbledore introduced himself before speaking, this time with only the two names, the rest of which Mr. Dursley had been entirely unable to remember. In his line of work, it was really only the last name that mattered, except on a sales call.

"Friends, allow me to express my gratitude that you have all arrived. Many of us are relieved, many mournful, still others remain in shock from all that has come to pass. Linger not on these sentiments, I implore you. Be relieved in the death of our greatest fear of Lord Voldemort, find comfort in knowing that no more noble lives will so suddenly and cruelly be taken from us, but never allow complacency to take hold. In our mourning we are at our most human, and not one among us can be faulted our tears, but we are at our most divine in our celebration of their short lives. James and Lilly Potter were exceptional students, devoted friends, and brave soldiers in a war they never wanted, hero and heroine to the very end. Their son was a boy we never had the chance of knowing- out of necessity they spent his infancy in hiding, and I expect few if any of us have even seen him. I know he brought them great joy, and for that reason, his life is something for which we should be thankful, though it was the shortest of them all." Vernon noticed a rectangular article in the end of the old wizard's sleeve. It had become partially visible only as his arm moved. Though he knew not from whence the notion came, it seemed to him Dumbledore had received a letter of his own.

The speech paused as the magical stonework was completed behind them, a representation of the Potter family with three headstones. His frustration at having been essentially forced to attend the funeral evaporated, or at least it was replaced with shame.

"This lesson that Harry Potter teaches us is one I never teach at my school, and for that I express my gratitude. Our lives, dear friends, are means each to their own ends, not ends in themselves. Disasters like these show us the horror of losing such valuable lives in mere moments, despite having done all we could to protect them, every magical arrangement I could make I made it and like Death himself Voldemort came all the same. We fear losing our lives early, but if we live in fear we can expect to lose them later, without ever having used them. With his short life the boy who died accomplished much, intentionally or otherwise. In this war I have asked more of people than I ever wanted, enough that by rights they should have refused. And yet, what I must ask here is that we all live as the Potters did. Never fear an early grave, and use what little life you have to the best purpose you can." There was a sonorous applause to the conclusion of the address, though for some reason Vernon thought the old man's voice was becoming shaky toward the end, as though he was forcing the words out. _Seemed like a meaningful lesson for him- long life, to be sure. No idea what he's so ashamed of having done with it._

As they started the car, Vernon Dursley's shame seemed to lift in an odd sort of sympathy.

They left without ceremony or further regard.


	2. The Train

Ronald Weasley waited in a compartment alone. He had hoped to make a friend on the train, but the other compartments were all full. He reminded himself there would be plenty of other opportunities.

Across from him sat what appeared to be an overlarge toad, probably a pet of a student. As his parents were saying their goodbyes, he spotted it hopping around without a care in the world. It occurred to him that none of his brothers ever had a toad. The amphibian stared at him, for purposes entirely beyond him.

"And what do you want? Flies? Haven't got any of those. Really the same way we Weasleys respond to every request. Doesn't matter if you're the minister himself and all you want is some tire irons Dad knows he's got. Haven't got any of those."

All at once a girl appeared in the doorway.

"Excuse me, have you seen a toad-"

"Haven't got any of those." He turned to look at her before going as red as his hair, her eyes going back and forth between the boy and his compartment companion. "Sorry. I was talking to the toad."

"It's quite alright," The witch responded, looking only a little like she believed him to be mad. "A boy named Neville lost his." She momentarily made a grimace toward the animal.

"No need to touch him. I'll watch him until Neville turns up." The girl nodded silently before disappearing. Ron heard a squeaking noise. "Oh, don't go getting jealous on me, Scabbers. I haven't forgotten about you. It's a lost sheep thing, see." The rat seemed unimpressed with the explanation as it crawled out of his pocket. Percy had thought him a jealous creature, possibly resentful he had been handed down, brother to brother. If one thing was certain, he wanted nothing to do with Fred and George. The two of them seemed particularly enamored with Muggle science, or at least the spirit of experimentation and discovery, and the rat wanted no part in anything that involved explosions. The toad was staring at Scabbers from the other seat. "I suppose you're going to eat him then? Go ahead, I suppose. If anyone asks about rats in our house, we'll just say 'Haven't got any of those'. Trouble is, we do. More rats than your amphibian-like mind can believe. You hop into our garden looking for a tasty fly, and a rat'll eat it before you can ribbit, mark my words. That's how rats do you in, they take your food. Well, that and disease."

"Excuse me." Ron looked up to see the girl at the door, this time with an overweight boy.

"And how long have you been there?"

"Long enough. Were you going to propose an alliance with the toads?" the witch answered.

"Possibly. Haven't yet figured if toads get the same diseases." The other two first-years entered as the boy scooped up the toad. "You're Neville?"

"Neville Longbottom. P-pleased to make your acquaintance." He extended a hand shakily.

"Ron Weasely, madman," the red-haired boy said as he took it, giving it a firm shake.

"T-truly?"

"No, but no one will ever believe otherwise. I've ruined it for myself. And you are?"

"Hermione Granger. I prefer to think of myself as perfectly sane." Looking her over, she had shoulder-length bushy hair and large teeth, as well as an increasingly irksome air about her.

"Don't think I've ever heard of a Granger," Ron said simply.

"I'm not from any of the magical families. I've read about them and they sound rather interesting, but the subject just seems irrelevant." Neville seemed to adopt a downcast expression.

"Well, they act like they're important, but we're just the same as anyone else." As he spoke he remembered a time his father had said much the same thing.

"I'm sure," Hermione responded curtly, turning to Longbottom. "And how is your family?" she asked politely, probably having noticed his countenance.

"They're... together. Everything's fine, I'm happy to have them." Ron mentally shrugged, figuring he spoke awkwardly because he was awkward.

"Straight to Hufflepuff."

"W-what?"

"You're a Hufflepuff. There's not the foggiest doubt about it. You're just the way Fred and George described." He paused, taking out his lunch to finish. "It's impressive, really, I didn't think it'd be this easy."

"Well, why don't they just make you the Sorting Hat, Ron?"

"I'd put you in Hufflepuff, just to spite you."

"You wouldn't _dare_!" she accused, standing.

"I'd be okay with Hufflepuff," Neville said, head hanging. "Sounds like an i-inclusive bunch." Hermione paused.

"Neville, there's nothing wrong with being a Hufflepuff, or any other House for that matter."

"Well, not Slytherin," Ron interjected. "Reckon your parents would never let you hear the end of it." Arthur Weasley had oft regaled his sons in the brave exploits of Frank and Alice Longbottom.

"That's enough out of you-" Hermione cut in before being interrupted herself.

"Well, you wouldn't want to be a Hufflepuff," Neville argued, head raising.

"Again, there's nothing wrong with being a Hufflepuff, it's just- not what I am."

"Why don't they just make you the Sorting-"

"That's enough, Ronald," The witch said sharply, some degree of anger present in her voice. _Never told her my proper name was Ronald._ "The point is that, well, there are things we can choose about ourselves, and some things we can't. If you're a Hufflepuff, be the best one you can. It would hardly do me any favors to be sorted there, though."

"Thanks Hermione," Neville said, looking out the window all of a sudden. They were coming up on the castle. "Probably best we get changed." Hermione disappeared without being prompted. "You're not really mad, are you? You d-don't have to lie to me."

"I'm no loon. Never have been."

"But you were talking to Trevor..."

"You don't? Now what if you've gone round the bend? Might be normal folk talk to toads when they feel like it." A look of shock spread across the other boy's face.

"Oh, no, oh, no- I don't want to be a loon, I promised my Gran I wouldn't." He struck his knee with a clenched fist. "She said this would happen- One day without me around, Neville, and you'll go right off your rocker- and look what happened, I'm already not talking to animals."

"You live with your grandmother?"

"What gave you that idea? Sorry, Ronald, have to change." The nervous boy disappeared, probably having left his luggage in another compartment. Ron closed the door and flipped the latch. He might have drawn the curtain, but he had not thought about it until his sweater was off. He remembered searching for what would become his robes as he got into them for the second time, his mother had been there making a fuss. Apart from his wand, all of his possessions were inherited, almost entirely from his brothers. The set of robes he was currently putting on had faded somewhat, and had been many times repaired. The only time the Weasley family ever had two sets of robes of the same size was for Fred and George, and the two of them alternated on the new set, though they mainly used it as an opportunity to confuse their mother.

"Easy does it," he muttered to himself as he placed his cloak on his shoulders. He had no intention of being anywhere near the getup except for when it was absolutely required, and even then, he would wear it grudgingly. At one point he had been optimistic about getting 'the newer set' as it was called, but he and Ginny would be in Hogwarts together most of the way and it would probably follow her all the way up. He felt the train coming to a stop and grabbed his luggage, Muggle attire already crammed in.

Reaching the front of the train a bit late, he heard enough to figure the first years were splitting off, which seemed consistent with what he had heard from his brothers. There was another boy there, who seemed to be late by design. He was staring at the castle in the distance, not turning to Ron when he spoke.

"What are you back here- get a move on, we'll be late."

"Fashionably so, I would hope. Look at the lights over the lake. I'm going to enjoy my time here," the blonde boy said, entirely to himself.

"Fashionably? What the bloody hell's the advantage-"

"Please. If you're early, no one sees you come in. If you're important, they'll wait."

"They're getting into the boats, so don't say I didn't warn you," Ron said, giving up and going past him, down to the shore.

"I would hardly think they would _leave_ without me. As the sole scion of House Malfoy-"

"MALFOY!"

"WEASLEY!" They shared an expression of abject shock. Malfoy collected himself first. "I suppose I should have known. _Ghastly_ hand-me-down robes, gaudy red hair- I should have been able to _smell_ you, more than anything. My father warned me about getting too close with the wrong sort- now I see why. You might be talking upwards of thirty seconds and not realize your conversation partner is a _Weasley._ " Ron knew the boats were leaving, but could not have fathomed why that mattered if asked.

"I suppose I could have been a Malfoy! I'd need a whole pig's worth of grease for my hair-"

"A _pig?_ You absolute ignoramus! As if hair grease comes from livestock!" The Malfoy heir drew his wand and Ron drew his back before hearing shouting from behind.

"GET INTER THE BLOODY BOAT YA BLAST-ENDED SKREWTS!" Ron had no idea what a blast-ended skrewt was, but he was in the boat long before he could possibly find out, nearly flying the way there. The other boy was beside him, both perfectly disregarding the fact they hated each other as the gargantuan figure before them rowed with oars akimbo, the boat lurching forward by great leaps every time, its hull only just above the surface of the water.

"Sorry, sir," Ron started. He was far from admitting fault, but it seemed like a good way to keep the huge man from shouting at them again. Looking over, Malfoy was simply stunned, unresponsive. _Probably terrified. Hope he finds out about the family ghoul sometime._

"Ah'm dockin' ten points from each of yeh. Merlin, this has got ter set a few records fer speed. Gryffindor and Slytherin startin' out in the minuses. Disgraceful. Bet yer new mates'll be happy 'bout this." Ron noticed they were nearly caught up with the other boats, most likely because of the headway they were making. _He's probably been at this for years._

"Excuse me, but how is it you know our Houses?" Malfoy asked, seeming to have been roused from shock.

"Ah heard yer names. It'd take a deaf dragon not ter," the gargantuan muttered.

The rest of the boat ride was a quiet one, as well as a particularly embarrassing one as they passed the other students, hanging on for dear life as they were. The students lined up for the sorting quickly, most of the wizarding stock arranging themselves in alphabetical order rather quickly. Ron was last, as expected, save an aloof looking boy who walked straight to the back as a point of pride. _He and Malfoy are going to be the best of friends._

There was a brief speech before the ceremony, but Ron paid little enough attention to it. He was mostly thinking of clearing his mind of all things except for courage. It had already occurred to him that he could set himself apart from his brothers by going to a different house, but that would be backing down from the challenge of surpassing them before it was even issued.

He listened to the students being called, starting with Hannah Abbot. The sorting hat took no time at all placing her in Hufflepuff. Some of the students had looks of confusion, but Ron had no idea why. If anyone looked like a Hufflepuff, it was that girl.

Ron Weasley was not at all surprised by any of the succeeding results of the sorting, least of all with Neville Longbottom and Hermione Granger, finding themselves in Hufflepuff and Ravenclaw respectively. After Longbottom was Malfoy, who did not have to touch the Sorting Hat before the grumpy headdress shouted "SLYTHERIN!", much to his delight. Ron noticed the old witch leading the students had elected not to call out their names after the first few, though he was unable to determine the reason. He knew who a few of the students were, mostly the ones from some of the older families and a few Ministry children. Some might have been younger brothers or sisters of students his brothers knew, but he had not asked in advance. He expected he would find out soon enough.

The hat needed only a moment to put him in Gryffindor.

"It's odd he didn't do it this year," an older witch was saying as Ron sat down at the House table.

"What?" he asked, hoping it would explain the confusion.

"Ordinarily the Sorting Hat has a song. I don't really listen to it, but it seems he decided to skip it entirely this year. McGonagall must have noticed." He made a look of confusion. "The witch over there, she's our Head of House." Ron and another first year, an Irish-looking boy looked in the direction of the professor.

"Thought I was out of Catholic school."

"Catholic school?" Ron asked.

"Let's say I mighta seen quite a few like her before. Me name's Seamus by the way, Seamus Finnagan."

"I'd say you sound a bit Irish."

"That's the ginger calling the roundtop Irish for you." Seamus said, looking like he had waited for an opportunity to use that joke.

"Do you drink?"

"No. I'm eleven." The boy was beginning to look defensive. Other Gryffindors took a passing notice.

"Not even a little? Your dad wouldn't happen to be in jail?"

"I'll have you know he's a police officer, not a militant- we may be PIRA-" a black boy from down the table laughed. _Probably a Muggleborn, not many of us know about the IRA._ The Weasley family had no direct relatives in Ireland, what they knew was from their father getting a Muggle radio to work, before it exploded again. It had been the subject of much contention whether it exploded before or after the twins got hold of it, all Molly Weasley knew was that they were nearest when she found it.

Seamus was unable to regain control of the conversation, almost everyone around them was laughing, not so much at the specific details, but the way the boy was defending himself. He hoped he was bettering his first impression with the Gryffindors, but there was no way to know for sure. He turned to the feast.

Mrs. Weasley had always prepared an excellent meal, but from watching the other students, Ron reckoned this was a chance to try something entirely different.

" _Turducken!"_ He requested confidently. Immediately a huge mound of meat appeared before him, which he carved right away.

"What the hell is that?" asked the older witch across from him.

"Exactly what it sounds like," Ron responded as he ate a large slice of turkey. The explanation did not seem to satisfy, but the elvish cooking did. He had never been to America himself, but the culture did have some decidedly interesting culinary creations. "Disgusting idea, really, can't imagine why anyone would do this- but in practice it works." The witch seemed to agree with him on the disgusting bit, but preferred saner fare.

Scanning the room as he ate, he eventually picked out Hermione in what appeared to be a stimulating conversation at the Ravenclaw table. Neville seemed to be enjoying himself with the Hufflepuffs, though there was possibly something off about him anyway. _Seems nice enough, it was just the way he answered questions. No reason to worry about it, though. Either he tells me what it is or I don't know._

Ron had a simple way of responding to secrets and that was to generally allow others to keep them all they liked. He was mostly an open book, bad at hiding things, even worse at lying outright, but there were things he preferred to keep to himself and expected others felt the same way. If he went around making assumptions, some of them might be right, and people like Neville would be deprived of their privacy. If he figured wrong, he'd only be putting them in a more difficult position. Ron had enough experience between Percy and his girlfriend Penelope Clearwater that he did not enjoy being scrutinized and evaluated.

Eventually, as plates began to clear and he feast ended, Professor Dumbledore rose to speak. Though he had never seen the man himself, he was unmistakable from description.

"Welcome, first years; old hands, welcome back," he began simply. The hall was silenced in a distinct respect. "It pleases me greatly to see the new students as it always does, yet this year in particular it occurs to me how precious life is." Ron had absolutely no idea what was special about this year, but it could hardly be the Triwizard Tournament or anything important. "As such, I caution you not to enter the Forbidden Forest. The local fauna and I disagree about the value of children." He paused deliberately before continuing, though not for the sake of the chuckling. "Similarly, it would be wise not to travel to the marked door in the third floor corridor. I do not wish to remove another child driven to madness, nor one seriously injured."


	3. The Third Floor Corridor

Hermione's eyes flitted as she listened to Dumbledore's speech, the reality of the clear and present danger behind the forbidden door being relayed to her in no uncertain terms.

 _"What?"_ she asked in a hushed tone. "Is he talking about real danger?" Dumbledore continued with his usual warning about the giant squid in the lake, which she had yet to actually believe.

"It's not really a concern," an older wizard assured her. "Stay away from the door and you're fine. If he could get rid of it he would have a long time ago."

" _Stay away from the door?_ " she asked. "I know wizards don't really- but haven't you ever heard of the Garden of Eden? Telling us to stay away from something is the surest way of getting someone to go after it- look, can't you see the Gryffindors are already planning something?"

"They probably are. It'll be their fault for walking into a trap when they were warned about it. Consider this. Dumbledore can't just burn down the Forbidden Forest, can he?"

"I don't suppose so." She had read some about the kind of creatures that lived in the enchanted wood. While she found some of them fascinating, the risk was not worth the reward. "I don't suppose he could put a barrier around it?"

"Not really. Creatures come and go from the forest as they please, migratory patterns and all that. Put a ten foot wall up and the stupid ones will simply get over with brooms. The point is, there's always going to be something dangerous to mind, and without the Third Floor Corridor it would only be the forest." In the background the headmaster was giving his closing remarks.

"Do you know what's back there?"

"Of course not. I don't like risk any more than you do, but there remains a rational component to it. Firstly, there is always a cost of reducing danger, increasing safety. We start with the simple, obvious things and work our way to the more costly, less effective measures. Eventually the cost outweighs the benefit. Secondly, the world can be a dangerous place, and young witches and wizards are better off learning how not to take unnecessary risks." A boy next to her whose name was Anthony Goldstein agreed with the idea in principle.

"Dumbledore can't double down on safety. The initial investment he has from the school governors is devoted to top teachers, who function as a system of red flags. If he had more funding, he'd have to put it toward something with returns around 14.2%, so as to recover every seven years, and with the value of gold in Gringotts having a ridiculous one-to-sixteen ratio with silver, I suspect wizarding money is all kinds of screwy." Hermione blinked, then blinked again, as if she hoped the stereotypes would disappear. "The point is, he has other expenses and opportunities to consider."

Hermione disliked the way people used stereotypes to judge others, especially when they were about matters beyond all control. She had books where characters expressed prejudicial views, and in some works like _Of Mice and Men_ , there was no apparent consequence. Her teacher at school had told her the language was rough for her age when she asked about it.

"But, sir, why? Why do the characters _treat_ each other like this? Does the _author_ have the same views?"

"I don't believe so, but it would hardly astonish me if Steinbeck felt differently than you do on most things."

"Well, why do we _read_ it? I know what people like about it and it was a good book, but-" she remembered making an exasperated, pained expression.

"This book takes place in California in the thirties, Hermione. It also was not on your recommended reading."

"But- sir, it's just not _acceptable_ -"

"Hermione." She remembered her teacher wore a tired countenance. "Steinbeck is considered a realist because he depicted things as they were. We can't change the past, however much we should like to. We can change the future. I want you to realize how infinitely important this is. We can change the future. To do this we have to learn." He rose, patting her on the head as she remembered he had to be somewhere. "Those who fail to learn from the past are doomed to repeat it."

Returning her to the present, the Heads of Houses rose to lead the students back to their dormitories. Hermione could have simply followed any one of the older Ravenclaws, but she supposed it was a tolerable tradition not getting in the way of anything. If it were inconvenient, she would have to decide whether or not it was worth it to put up with it. Professor Flitwick, who seemed to be partially Goblin, showed them to the door to Ravenclaw tower. From _Hogwarts: A History_ she knew about the founding of the House and as she figured it was where she was most likely to end up, studied the goings on more closely than the other Houses. A silver bird protruding from the door asked a question for them.

 _"In 1980, Aragog was fifteen years old. In 1985, he was but ten. How can this be?"_ The Head of House did not answer immediately, allowing any one of the students to figure it out. _It's probably a harder riddle because there are so many of us. I don't know who this 'Aragog' character is, or even if age regression is possible in the wizarding world._

Eventually an answer came from a taller blonde girl. At the feast Hermione had learned her name was Penelope Clearwater.

"I would think the only way that were possible is if the years were moving in reverse. Aragog must be capable of time travel." There was only silence from the statue for a moment, as if it were _considering_.

" _I'll allow it the once."_ Hermione found it oddly reasonable. After all, the figure never told them they were not to resort to time travel as an explanation. What confused her was the question as to whether or not time travel was actually _possible_ , or if this were merely conjecture. She supposed to make any degree of headway on that, she would have to ask someone apart from the bird that by all appearances only knew how to ask questions.

As they entered, the Prefects were giving them a tour of the tower, though her mind was elsewhere. She wondered if Neville Longbottom, the boy she met on the train, was handling the new environment well. She had no doubt that the arrangements would be sufficient, however much the older students seemed inclined to bore them with details.

The beds were four-posters with blue drapery, her own complete with a newsletter she had never seen before. _Transfiguration Today_ , the title read, probably with the idea of keeping her up to date on the academics of the wizarding world. _Thoughtful, whoever my anonymous donor is. I would have asked for a book, but Hogwarts has a library. I wouldn't have thought to ask for a magazine._ In the Muggle world they rarely interested her. Mostly they were about things people thought would interest girls her age, though wherever they got their ideas, they did not get them from Hermione. Conversely, she found _Transfiguration Today_ rather interesting, specifically the minor bit on the Philosopher's Stone, which she had seen mentioned along with Dumbledore. There was a minor bit on Animagi, though it seemed like an impractical ability for the amount of effort it would take.

She knew her schedule for tomorrow, excited to be starting classes right away, especially History of Magic, something in which she had only been able to study a little before coming to Hogwarts. Defense against the Dark Arts was last, and it appeared Ravenclaw would be sharing that class with the Slytherins. She knew about their reputation, but decided not to let it color things for her. Whatever people thought of them was their own business and she was more than capable of sorting them out for herself.

The witch took a book to bed after bathing, as to her surprise the Ravenclaw girls of years past had managed to come up with an impossible space inside what looked to be a wardrobe, but actually contained a full bath. The area was somewhat open for her liking, but she would adjust. She already knew some of the girls in her dormitory, even though she found it easy to get along with Goldstein as well. Padma Patil was shaping up to be a regular friend, similarly invested in her schoolwork. At the very least Hermione expected her to be a study partner, as they had already agreed to compare notes regarding classes each was taking without the other.

She woke to the sound of her alarm, exactly as expected, unable to remember when she had fallen asleep. The magazine was gone, but that was a minor concern if it was a concern at all; the most likely explanation was that one of the other girls was borrowing it. Heading to breakfast before her first class, Charms, she found that many of the students were not sitting by House, and she supposed that as breakfast was optional, it was a less formal occasion. All the same, the students were wearing their proper robes, sans hats. She found Neville Longbottom sitting next to Ron Weasley, though it was possible that Neville was lost and Ron was unaware of the rules. He struck her as the type.

"Hello," she said simply, sitting between them and starting on toast with a breakfast tea.

"Hi, Hermione. How's everything? Great?" The round boy asked. _No objections; nothing in particular to report._

"Oh, it's lovely. I believe Padma Patil may end up becoming a great friend of mine. I can't wait for classes to begin. What about you?"

"I'm doing- alright. They're great people, I just don't know any of them. We sat around in a circle and told each other one interesting thing about ourselves." Ron was stifling what appeared to be a gleeful snigger. "I couldn't think of anything, so I told them about my Gran. She's led an interesting life, she has."

"Well, I'm sure there's something interesting about you," Hermione started, glaring at Ron. "You don't have to make everything about your grandmother."

"Well, there's one thing, but I was too young to remember it, so no one would really be interested in hearing about it. Maybe you're right, though. I wouldn't remember my own name if it hadn't been stitched to my underwear for the first six years of my life." She would have been angry at Ron had she not bitten her own lips to keep from laughing at the image of Neville checking his underwear to remind himself of his name. The boy himself went beet red, realizing he had revealed far too much, and to make matters worse, Ron's laughter was drawing stares.

"Something funny, Weasley?" It was an older Hufflepuff witch by her robes. Hermione guessed she could see Longbottom's embarrassment from a mile away, and some guilty part of her own mind was trying to figure out a way of getting out of it.

"Not really. I saw you watching us, though." _That's a surprise. You seem like the thickest-_ "Why?" he asked simply, not giving any indication he knew the answer.

"Longbottom is a new member of our House, we consider him family."

"So you're looking out for him? Making sure he doesn't get his feelings hurt?"

"Ron!" Hermione objected.

"Possibly I am, possibly I'm not. I suppose if between any of your elder brothers, one of them saw you as a member of the family, he would be over here doing the same." It was Ron's turn to go red.

"That's not- that's not how you _grow up-_ "

"I'm sure your brothers have seen to that. Looks like you've twenty years of torment in you." The Weasley boy rose, furious, but the Hufflepuff girl walked away before he got his wand out. A few of the other students at the table were laughing.

"Oh, yeah, walk off," he muttered angrily. "What are you lot laughing-" They looked away as he looked at them. He sat back down, clearly not comprehending.

"Ron, she wasn't _exactly_ running for it. You don't know much magic." Hermione explained as they rose and headed in the same direction, guessing they had Charms together.

"Well, that's exactly what I'm going to fix."

"Don't you think that's a bit petty? Look, all you're doing is showing you're upset by it." The two of them silently decided to be quiet as they entered class, most likely both testing the waters on the first day. As Britain's premier magical school, it was reasonable to expect a degree of formality. Hermione hoped the wizard would show more restraint in laughing at Professor Flitwick, or anyone else for that matter. In class Ron was quiet and concentrated deeply on levitating the feathers the half-goblin instructor had likely levitated to all the tables in the room. He managed to get it to move, and quickly enough, which she thought was good enough for his first go at it. After class it seemed they were going in different directions, so Hermione decided it would be tactful to complement his wandwork.

"Yes?"

"I thought you did well on your first go at it."

"Not so well as you," he muttered in response.

"Ron, you mustn't compare yourself to others."

"Yeah, that's what they all say," he responded cryptically.

Their paths diverged.

In History of Magic, there was much that was being discussed that she had already read, not that any of that material had been required. She supposed Ron, who had older brothers, could have been comparing himself to them, though that would not have made much sense given the age difference. Hermione reminded herself that she had no siblings, and knew nothing about what it was like, but could not help but wonder what made the young wizard set his sights so high. His older brothers would be at least a few years older each, meaning there were those much further along in magical study, as well as those who had completed it, at least possibly. Taking careful notes, she noticed she was not terribly moved by the speaking abilities of the late Professor Binns. She had heard of 'lifetime' professors before, but she supposed this was a bit extreme. One of the older students said after he died he simply showed up the next day and taught class the same as he had in life. The novelty of having a ghost for an instructor wore off rather quickly, especially since he seemed to be either unaware that he was dead, or that it was just as immaterial as he was. The dead man simply took passing through walls for granted.

She passed by the Third Floor Corridor, taking a long look at it as though she would gain some knowledge of what was behind it by merely seeing it. All she could tell was that it was inaccessible by means of a great padlock and she would likely do well to learn a spell that could unlock things. Stopping suddenly on the moving stair, she physically collected herself before she could mentally collect herself. _Oh, don't be so stupid! It's obviously locked for a reason. The same is true for anything else that happens to be locked in this castle, or anywhere else for that matter._

And yet, even as she made her way to Flying later, which was outside, the door continued to irk her. Behind that door was knowledge. Whatever it was specifically was immaterial, it was something that was of some vital importance, something that could not simply be boarded up and forgotten. It was a distinctly intellectual cowardice that would reject the possibility entirely. _There are other ways of finding out._

It was a compromise as good as any.

On the grounds there was a broom for each student. It was not a matter she had studied extensively, or at all, really, especially after reading that wizards rarely flew anywhere. It was something of a lost art, like calligraphy in the normal world, and she would do her best to pass the class and move on from it. Commanding her assigned broom to rise was somewhat difficult, and she assumed a more reasonable tone.

"Up," she insisted, as nearby she saw Neville getting struck in the face by the handle. "Up," Hermione repeated, somewhat more cautiously, if that were possible. Seizing his broom and leaping onto it as it rose, Neville was thrown inside a minute, landing on his ankle. Madam Hooch, whose life Hermione reminded herself was none of her business quickly picked up the large boy by magic and levitated him inside, instructing the students to wait for her return. Perhaps deciding that such would be far too boring, a blonde haired boy picked up something Neville had dropped.

"What's Longbottom found- it's a Remembrall," she had heard of the magical trinket before and was uncertain as to why its owner or the thief particularly needed it. Ron, however, was refusing to stand for it.

"You're only going to have to give that back, Malfoy." The other boy seemed to take it as a challenge as he rose on his broom.

"Really now? Say I leave it somewhere Longbottom can find it? The astronomy tower, perhaps?"

"Well, we all would have seen you steal it. It doesn't really matter where you leave it," Hermione interjected before things were allowed to escalate. She was glad no one had simply gone ahead and mounted after this Malfoy fellow. That would have been stupid. Brave, to be sure, but stupid.


	4. Remembrall

Neville knew he was not badly hurt, but he was badly embarrassed, and if he were certain about anything, it was that he had no wish to go back out to the grounds and make a fool of himself again, at least not before giving everyone a chance to forget his last foul-up. Looking out the window of the hospital wing as the overqualified Madam Pomfrey told him he was fine, especially after the hospital wing, he wondered how he was going to report this incident to his grandmother, if at all. He knew this was within her expectations. In fact, she had stated it outright.

"Neville Longbottom, the first time you sit a broom you are going to hurt yourself. Don't even think about Quidditch."

He had not been thinking about Quidditch; in his experience there was quite possibly a causal relationship between thinking about something and doing it, and in him there was no desire to play the sport at all. If any of his friends were interested in playing, he would be more than happy to watch. Putting himself in danger was not something he enjoyed, and he could not quite wrap his head around why some wizards were so keen on it.

Neville heard a noise coming from the end of the room, an unexpected one, to be sure, but he allowed Madam Pomfrey to answer it, maintaining in vain the illusion of injury.

"Yes, here to see Longbottom," the voice on the other side of the partially opened door said.

"Longbottom?" the healing witch asked.

"Yes, there's just the one now, isn't there?" Madam Pomfrey stared for a moment before answering.

"There's but one _in this room._ "

"Right. Only just remembered he has a grandmother. Bit of a _faux pas_ , but no matter. I would like to speak to him momentarily, as I believe I have a class soon."

" _Do you_ , Mr. Malfoy? By aaaaalllll means then!" she shouted as she left the room, frustrated. A blonde boy with an air about him entered, carrying his Remembrall.

"Does this belong to you? That was my conjecture anyway."

"Oh, you found it! I hadn't known it missing!" Neville exclaimed, rising to retrieve it, forgetting he was supposed to be feigning injury. He had been hurt a little, but Madam Hooch, whose life he had no right to judge, was most likely only sparing his embarrassment by telling everyone he had a sprain. "Remarkably good guess, Mr. Malfoy, I never even left my mark on it."

"Ah, well, it was nothing, really," the boy responded, raising a hand to his brow. "You should have heard some of the other first years on the subject. So I pick it up, and it appears to be lost and they pounce on me like I'd stolen it the moment I lift off on that substandard broom. I only meant to have a bit of fun as I return it, but they would simply not hear of it. The braver ones among them threatened to report the whole event- or at least their version of it. Pardon me if I speak ill of any of your acquaintances." For the life of him, Neville had no idea who had been there. He had mostly been concerned with not making a fool out of himself, which he had managed to do all the same.

"It's not a bother. You seem a swell fellow, Malfoy," he said, looking over his Remembrall, the smoke inside of which was turning red. "Looks like I'm forgetting something. Can't remember what it is of course."

"Doesn't seem like a terribly useful trinket, really. Not to disparage, of course. Anyway, more to the point, I have been made aware that Hufflepuffs like you are quite forthcoming with each other." Neville looked down at the yellow trim on his robes.

"I suppose so. Why... does the matter concern you?" he asked, adjusting his speech to mirror that of Malfoy.

"It is a trifling matter, only that certain rumors may or may not arise in the Hufflepuff Commons, and as an inquisitive fellow, I might learn an interesting thing or two from hearing about them. Of course, I would be all too happy to share news from Slytherin House." Neville took a moment, thinking. He had never desired to learn what went on in Slytherin, but this Malfoy seemed an interesting character, and it occurred to him that he might learn just as much. If he forgot something, the Remembrall would at least notify him.

"I wouldn't mind at all, Mr. Malfoy."

"Excellent," the blonde boy decided, leaving for class. The Remembrall reddened.

"Right. I have class as well." Neville hurried off for Herbology, which as he understood it was in the greenhouses, far from his current position. Sprinting, he heard an older student's voice as he rounded a corner.

"Late, Longbottom?"

"Y-yes, yes, I'm afraid I'm late for Herbology, or near," he stammered out politely. He noticed the witch's robes had a yellow trim and his magical trinket turned red as he looked at it. _Not again..._

"No worries, friend. _Portus,_ " she said, tapping her wand to a book. It began to grow blue and she tossed it to him. Immediately upon trying to grab it Neville felt as though he were being physically thrown from somewhere in his midsection, landing with a thud directly outside the greenhouse. Confused, he looked around in all directions as an equally shocked Professor Sprout came out to find him.

"Longbottom? Nice... of you to join us."

"Uh, yes, I seem to have... taken a bit of a tumble," he started, rising and righting himself. "No worries though. I can be almost certain I won't land on the ground again, at least not today. The odds of that would be ridiculous, at least I think," he said, probably revealing too much. The instructor simply smiled and welcomed him in.

"Fear nothing, Longbottom," she said simply as they began. "In this class, you will learn about the care and uses of magical plants." The students looked back and forth at one another as well as some of the more dangerous looking plants on the wall. "More importantly, you will learn how many things are not quite as they seem." With her wand, she levitated a huge plant with thorny vines and gaping red maws over to the table in the center of the room. She then conjured a mouse, which scurried past the plant unharmed. "This plant looks dangerous, but it only uses its mouth and thorns to defend itself from herbivores." The rodent continued along the table until a green vine erupted from a small plant at the end of the table, grabbing the mouse and retracting like a frog's tongue. "And that plant masquerades as a much safer species. Consider the venomous snakes with their patterns, and the mimicry by nonvenomous snakes."

By Neville's estimation there were no Slytherins in the room, and the comparison fell flat entirely.

"Professor, what are we going to do first?" A student asked, curious. Neville believed the boy's name was Macmillan. He might have met him before coming to Hogwarts, though he could not be certain. He checked his Remembrall.

"Good question. It is imperative we establish some rules about the care to exercise around plants. Firstly, many plants in the greenhouses are highly toxic. In some cases, you can be poisoned by merely touching them. I would advise you to do touch only the ones I tell you. Some of them are only dangerous if ingested, though I do not believe I need to tell you not to eat the plants." Some of the students laughed nervously. "There are plants that emit a poisonous gas, and you will not be dealing with those until such a time as you learn to use the Bubble-head charm." The laughter stopped almost immediately. "Of course, in our coursework for first years, much of what you will be doing is rather mundane."

There was a groan from someone, but a cursory look around could not determine who it was.

"Please continue, Professor Sprout," Neville requested.

"Yes. For all the damage the plants can do to you, you must be conscious of the damage you can do to them. Many plants are highly sensitive to heat and light, others can be drowned in the water a cactus needs. I have plants not native to Britain, and these require special conditions to grow. For this reason and the former, the most important quality you must possess to succeed in Herbology is _care_. You are dealing with very different species about which you have little knowledge, and you must constantly take care not to hurt them, or allow them to hurt you. If there is an issue, I remind you that I have the privilege to remove you from my class either for your safety or for the safety of the plants."

For their practical lesson they started with something sufficiently mundane for the Muggle-born students, ordinary houseplants. In the Longbottom manner, the house elf would have taken care of a matter like this; it was not in any sense necessary for a wizard, let alone one who usually bungled things, to tend to plants. _I've got no manner of experience in this at all. Surely no one would think less of me if I asked for help here and there?_ Neville decided that he would inquire of Professor Sprout as frequently as necessary, no matter how silly it made him look.

At the end of the class he decided it had all gone rather well, considering the circumstances. He had not needed any books for the first day and decided that it was just as well, since it seemed like little enough of a bookish class, which was just as well considering he was a forgetful lad. Checking his Remembrall, it appeared he had forgotten something.

"Books, books, what could that have been?" he wondered audibly as he headed to Charms, where he had every expectation he would arrive on time, without any need for a portkey. "Aha!" he exclaimed, drawing momentary glances from the passing Gryffindors. From his schoolbag he drew the book the older student had given him as he arrived in class, knowing better than to try to do it while walking. The title read _Enchanting Earth and Magical Mulch- Your Guide to Sorcery of the Soil!_

Despite the exciting title, Neville was quick to put the book away to better pay attention to the lesson. He had been holding out hope that it would be easier than Transfiguration, which he had earlier in the day. Professor McGonagall seemed exactly like his grandmother, fair, but incredibly strict. He wondered how she was the Head of Gryffindor with all her safety rules. It seemed like a complete contradiction, and it puzzled him even further that he seemed to be the only one to realize it. Of course, the safety rules made sense and he was glad for them, but as he had understood it, Gryffindors were supposed to follow the rules when it was convenient for them and ignore them at every opportunity. _Do they like her? Is it just that they're used to it?_

Neville knew about being used to things and not noticing them. His grandmother once warned him not to leave his toad in a pot of boiling water, because as the water temperature rises, a normal animal would try to get out, but a toad would never notice the difference. Each degree change in heat would be only a little worse than the last, and by the time it realized it was dying, it would be dead.

"Is that why I have a toad, Gran?" he had asked.

"Yes, I already told you that. I suppose I should buy you a Remembrall. You'd probably lose it, though."

"Probably. I haven't an idea what I'll do without you."

"You'll probably fall off a broom the first time you sit one."

Later that day Neville left a pot of water on the hot plate for curry rice, only when he returned he saw Trevor leaping out of the pot. He remembered deciding there was no reason to spoil his grandmother's fun with the comparison, though.

Transfiguration that day had involved trying to turn a match into a needle, which he had not been able to accomplish, though it appeared the piece of wood was at least changing color. Another student claimed he had successfully pulled it off, but Professor McGonagall set it on fire, showing him that it was still flammable. Neville sympathized with his disappointment as he seemed to lift a feather, but then discovered it was but a breeze.

After class was out he took a minute to start on his homework, which he had not seen since he had looked over it at lunch. He had twelve inches to write regarding safety with Transfiguration, and a few more with Herbology, though Professor Sprout seemed more inclined to an 'at your own risk' philosophy. This both excited and worried him, though it was all the more evident that he would simply have to ask for help as often as he needed it. It occurred to him that if he learned the safety rules once, his Remembrall would notify him if he were forgetting one, though that carried the risk of making the trinket _entirely_ useless, as it might simply be red at all times.

Heading to Potions class after having gone over some of the more obvious safety rules, he decided he was glad that the students were meant to learn them, especially for his own sake. He would likely forget some of them, but he hoped to have fewer embarrassments like the one in Flying. Reaching a table with an adjacent cauldron, he waited about a minute for Professor Snape to arrive, stock still with anticipation.

"There will be no foolish wand-waving or silly incantations in this class," the wizard instructed as he entered, rapidly making his way to the front of the room. Neville thought better of telling him he had no intention to come up with silly incantations, as his previous attempts had all been unsuccessful. He had heard much about this man, and he would do well to be silent unless called. His head whipped around as another student raised her hand, wondering who would dare. It was Susan Bones, but fortunately that mattered little as Professor Snape ignored her entirely.

Class began with fifteen inches or near enough about the essentials of potion making, with the instructor magically writing on the board with his back turned. A student with her hand raised- Bones again, to Neville's dismay, waited over ten minutes before asking her question without being called. _No! No! Why would you ask again? Why, when you so narrowly escaped before?_

"Professor, what are the safety requirements for potions?" Snape turned sharply and stared. _At least she asked a fair question._

"Do your best not to stick any part of your body in the cauldron. If you do, I shall be most... amused. Five points from Hufflepuff for speaking out of turn." Neville doubted he would need his Remembrall to recognize Susan's look of shock if he ever saw it again. Though the instructor was no longer looking at her, she looked as though she was ready to tell him her aunt was a prominent figure at the Ministry and this kind of disregard for student safety would not go without consequence. Another girl was quick to silence her before she could make it worse for herself. _Might have been Hannah Abbot._

Professor Snape continued with the lesson as if there had never been an interruption, going on at length about the different ingredients that would be available.

Neville quietly took careful notes, only looking up occasionally at the unsettled Hufflepuffs. If they had thought Professor Sprout had an 'at your own risk' philosophy, the Potions master replaced the presumption of risk with its known reality, a philosophy of 'follow the directions and you won't die'. Neville doubted anyone except he would have trouble not injuring himself with the silver knife, but he knew potions could be dangerous and always carried the risk of boiling over.

He decided he would simply have to be extra careful and remember to check his Remembrall.

As class drew to a close he wondered if the new book he had acquired rather unintentionally had anything to say about potion ingredients or how to grow them, but as it turned out, at least as far as he could tell from the table of contents, this was not the case. The book was well and truly about soil and the right conditions for magical gardening. He decided it was worth a read if for no other reason than to see how they managed to stretch the topic out that far. Thumbing through the first few pages as he left class, it was clear that not only had they managed to fill the book, they had done so without pictures.

"Merlin's beard..." Neville muttered to himself, avoiding a student in the hall. "I've got to show this to Ron- I reckon there's a lot we can learn here." Smiling broadly for the first time all day, he took care to avoid notice, replacing his new possession in his schoolbag. However the author or authors of the book had managed to stretch out text, there had to be a school rule against it. He checked his Remembrall to see if he was forgetting a school rule, but remembered he had likely not heard all of them. He considered asking Hermione, but then the jig would be well and truly up; whether or not it was against any rules it would be within the hour.

He did not have the slightest idea how he would thank the Hufflepuff witch, if he recognized her again.


	5. Defense Against the Dark Arts

In his last class of the day, Draco noticed a Ravenclaw girl he had seen earlier that day, but he really knew nothing about her. _There's a chance she's Longbottom's ladyfriend. Chances are she's a sight cleverer- not hard to manage, really._ The witch took her things from her bag, including textbooks he had never seen before. She had a confident air about her, and yet she was clearly here to learn. _Possibly a pure blood- definitely one to keep away from my Hufflepuff friend, if at all possible._

Professor Quirrell was already in the room getting ready as the last few students arrived, and they did not escape his notice.

"D-do not b-be late to my class. There will b-be consequences," the instructor said without ceremony. Draco guessed some of his fellow Slytherins and likely the Ravenclaws as well were only a few minutes late because the first time they would have set foot in the castle was the previous night. He himself followed a group of students, and likely would not have made it on time otherwise.

Quirrell started immediately about the course title being something of a moot point in a time after the Dark Lord, whom he called 'Voldemort' for some reason. Draco nodded, remembering his father had argued at length on a similar subject. For the past ten years or so, he had insisted that the Ministry was wasting its time hunting down the last few Death Eaters, some of whom had likely been under the Imperius Curse, and scarce resources would be better spent turned on greater threats. Lord Malfoy never wavered in his condemnation of former Death Eaters, touting Lestrange, his brother, and his wife as the best examples of the lot of them- utter madmen who were not at all representative of the ideas of Slytherin.

"Why do we call the class this?" The question was asked by a student whose name he did not know. _Best rectify that little issue._

"It was renamed d-during the war years- the t-truth is, most of what we t-teach here is how to d-defend yourself against magical c-creatures. B-by that I mean creatures Muggles have no idea exist." Draco supposed most of what they termed 'magical creatures' possessed no magic in and of themselves, though he suspected that they had to have some way of hiding from the Muggles and their silly cameras. On an excursion to London he had once seen a nature magazine and found it entirely bereft of dragons, which in his mind constituted the only reason for even _going_ to Hungary. His mother informed him that the nonmagical were easily fooled by simple tricks and could be deterred from huge tracts of land without their realizing.

The instructor went on to explain that in his class, though he had no wish to disrupt the school governors or the headmaster, and he was sure their intentions were in the right place, he would be taking the coursework in a somewhat different direction than it had previously gone. The idea interested Draco immensely. Much of what was considered 'the Dark Arts' was really only advanced magic that the greatest pure families had kept hidden to prevent it from falling into the wrong hands. The methodology seemed unusual to others, and its effects were frequently controversial, but it was to be used only in emergencies and only with the intent to protect Magical Britain. Quirrell explained that while there were dark wizards out there, they were arguably no longer a concern, and definitely no longer the greatest concern.

Class started with the Knockback jinx. It was a simple enough spell, but Draco guessed that the instructor had a good reason for including it and he went along with it. Having lived in a pure house, far from Muggles, he had been allowed to fly a broom to his heart's content, but owning a wand before coming to Hogwarts would have been unlawful, and his father was toeing the line. Had he come to school with magical ability impossible to explain outside of illegal activity, both of his parents would likely have to pay a fine, and it would count against them later.

Pairing up once they had learned the incantation and wand movement, they were instructed to try it on their partners. Draco's partner was a Ravenclaw, one 'Anthony Goldstein' with what he imagined would be rather impressive connections if you were a Muggle - _if you were a Muggle._ His wand was out instantaneously.

" _Flipendo!"_

 _"Flipendo!"_

For a moment he believed the beams collided, but then it simply became apparent that nothing was happening and nothing was going to happen until they learned how to do it properly.

"It may be that we're just not investing enough."

"Possibly," Draco responded, considering it. "Have to really concentrate, then. _Flipendo!"_ He could have fooled himself into thinking that something had happened, but as far as he could tell, the half-step the other boy had gone backward might have been unintentional.

"No, not the down payment, the interest rate."

"Ah." Lord Malfoy had been completely unambiguous on the importance of handling money wisely. Draco had a portfolio at seven. " _Flipendo!"_ he cast, steady and determined. Anthony took a flustered step back before returning fire.

" _Flipendo!"_ he shouted as Draco jumped the sparks. "Hey-"

"Aiming it at my feet, aren't you clever."

A sudden appearance of Professor Quirrell brought the conflict to a close before it could escalate any further. Both of them were re-assigned to students who had yet to get a grasp of the spell. _I'm stuck with Crabbe of course- what do they feed him that makes him so thick? Syrup? Canadian Syrup?_ After some light and entirely acceptable taunting between associates, while entirely one-sided, Vincent had improved to where he could say the word properly and sparks would fly out. _If my next partner is Goyle so help me-_ The girl stood in front of him as he turned, just as if she had Apparated, though he reminded himself it was impossible.

"Draco Malfoy," he said, composed.

"I'm Hermione Granger," she said before the instructor interrupted, reminding her of the demonstration. _Only a minute or so of class left, I suppose._ She struck him before he could respond, and when he jumped, assuming it was going at his feet, it knocked him backward in the air. He landed on his knee, but rose quickly, pulling out his wand.

"There will b-be no need for that, D-draco."

"Do you mean to have me take this lying down?" he asked suddenly, breaking composure.

"There is nothing t-to t-take. Miss G-granger only attacked you b-because I t-told her to d-demonstrate. She d-did not mean t-to insult you." Draco considered explaining that he might already be some kind of personal enemy with the girl, having conflicted with her earlier in the day, but thinking on it as he collected his books, he knew how Quirrell would respond. Stuttering as always, he would likely insist that Granger had no idea he would jump, making everything his fault. _Of course it's not impossible she saw me leap over Goldstein's misguided jinx- could have been watching her little boyfriend for cues- no, I'm almost certain he's a Mudblood._

It occurred to him that she could have been watching him.

 _It's highly likely I've either made an enemy or a secret admirer. Either case is expected for great men like myself, I suppose there is no reason it would not start as early as the first day of classes._ Draco had a reliable idea of which students from lesser families he could get to help him with his assignments, though he would have to stay on top of them himself. His father had been perfectly clear about that.

"Draco, your magical education is not something you may take lightly. I have secured our residence with all manners of advanced spells, rituals, artefacts, and enchantments, the effects of many of which I shall not tell you to spare your dreams. Needless to say, I would not have been able to understand any of this had I left the tedium of assignments to lesser men. To do that would be to do the same with your security," he had explained while performing Arithmancy.

"Father, how do you know when the Manor is safe?"

"I have made it a personal matter to never stop improving the security of both our lands and the architecture of the Manor itself."

Eventually he got the reason out of his mother.

"Draco, your father is doing his job as our protector," his mother had begun sincerely. "One day, there was a man named Arkirk Longa that the Aurors used to get in, and some of our friends died in the fight that ensued. I was pregnant with you at the time, and your father decided he would take no more chances, not in any possible respect. There have been measures that even I found unnecessary. Did you know that if someone attempts to land a cursed Thestral on our roof, the rider will be immolated? Your father goes to such great lengths to protect us," she concluded sweetly, kissing the top of his head.

He worked on his assignments diligently, not missing a thing. _They're going easy on us in the first year- probably have to dumb it down for the Mudbloods._ Draco smiled internally at the notion as he worked in the dorm, away from prying eyes. If he needed help in the future he would ask it of an equal in confidence, and before he really needed it- it would not do to have the scion of Malfoy seen struggling. Apart from academic matters, he could be significantly more concerned.

Draco was relatively confident any amount of Slytherin and Ravenclaw girls would start sending hints his way, though he was yet to be interested enough to respond. While he knew it was something that would matter in the future, he had other things to do and simply could not be bothered with the effort of it. Witches were always doing cosmetic things and rarely had time for more interesting activities, like Quidditch and broom racing. They shied away from dueling, while he had every confidence he would prove his abilities and claim his rightful place. As a Slytherin, he naturally wished to form connections and discover the secrets of notable figures, and he more or less had that covered with Longbottom. _Now to avoid the ruination of my reputation I simply have to keep people from realizing I have not only acknowledged, but directly addressed the blood traitor._

A smirk spread across his face as he concluded the pointless drivel about safety he completed for Transfiguration, seeing Goyle enter the dorm. _I have the security of my person prepared for anything. Crabbe and Goyle are mostly human shields- not good for much of else, though they may have the alphabet down between them._ Draco had every expectation that unless they learned some offensive magic, they would outlive their usefulness by their second year, by which point he would be an expert duelist, or near enough.

He extinguished the candle, though his eyes had adjusted to the darkness all the same. His father had not been lying about the tedium, he had never done anything less interesting in his life. Draco even found the conversation going on in the adjacent room interesting when compared to Herbology. It was some useless matter about a student organization, which had him wondering what kind of Slytherin would suffer joining an organization without leading it, at least from behind the scenes. Professor Snape quickly dismissed them to their family loyalty dorms, Crabbe entering with his usual sullen expression. It was no secret he and his counterpart were not true Slytherins, it was merely that they fit in no other House, and most likely personal preference, or near enough. House Crabbe and Goyle had long since thrown their lot in with the Malfoys.

The night was dark and his sleep was dreamless.

After magically cleaning his teeth, he cursed the lack of personal house elves at Hogwarts. He figured they must have them somewhere; perhaps they made the food, but what was the point without the personal servant? Dobby answered his every beck and call, whether it was making his bed or hiding the evidence of something he had done from his father. The elf occasionally tried to get out of those duties, making the excuse that it was a conflict of interest, but Draco would remind him that Lord Malfoy had instructed the elf to do _whatever_ his son asked, not whatever he asked that did not cause a conflict of interest. The young Malfoy knew for a fact that his father had been rather skilled at getting away with things at Hogwarts and afterwards, and Draco saw the ability to avoid punishment as a legitimate right of passage for Slytherins. His father had every right to enact rules for him and was within his rights to be angry at their violation, yet he should be proud, at least privately, at the young Slytherin for his ability to escape punishment.

Breakfast was average fare, nothing spectacular, though his palate was not as refined as his father's. A visiting friend, Yaxley, had said over the dinner table that he was much he same as a boy. Crabbe and Goyle filed in next to him and he asked if either of them had been successful in the mission he had assigned.

"Not entirely. I got close to the door; couldn't figure out what was behind it," Goyle answered. _Reliable chap, that Gregory._

"Hear anything?"

"Some sort of animal- something big. Bloody Baron caught me- let me off for Slytherin."

"Crabbe?"

"Couldn't get off- detention."

"What did you do?" Draco asked seriously.

"Mudblood bloke was getting smart with me. Let him have it." _Can't really fault him, I suppose._

"Next time, you make sure no one's around. We'll get to the tripping jinx in Defense soon enough, that's a good one," he explained, almost convinced he could see the Arithmancy working in the poor boy's head. _Shorter sentences, Draco._

Classes went well enough, he could hardly complain but for the tedium, which was already beginning to irk him. He expected he would simply have to accustom himself to the monotony and find something interesting to do outside of class. Quidditch would get his name out there, and he was sure there would always be time for pranks. He could not count on either of his associates to invent them, but they could carry them out and bear the brunt of the consequence, if necessary. He knew that in actual law, he would be held responsible, but Hogwarts teachers never looked for a mastermind. In addition, the idea occurred to him that he would need friends on an equal playing field as himself. His manners would go to rot elsewise and he would do well to have them as connections.

He sighed as he worked on a Transfiguration he had seen in the book outside of class. _Whatever else I do, academic affairs are still going to have to come first. I can't risk Father's disappointment with my growth into my magical heritage._ Draco had never seen his father's ire, but had heard stories about it and could imagine it as somewhat worse than his dull glare of high expectations failing him.

Defense Against the Dark Arts was another interesting spectacle, though Quirrell refrained from having the Granger girl humiliate him again. _I suppose it's possible it wasn't his intention after all, though I still wouldn't be surprised._

Professor Snape had been more than fair in his assessment of their work, which in this case happened to be minor aging potions, one of the simplest concoctions you could make. He had every expectation that Weasley disagreed with the level of fairness, but that would be a clear attempt to cover his own ineptitude. The instructor had to specifically explain why his work was not up to par- the title clearly referred to a minor aging potion, and the redhead managed to foul it up so badly that he aged something like two years. The Slytherins were in accord that though no exact age difference was specified, the title was sufficiently explicit. For his punishment, no points were deducted, but he was not provided any sort of remedy for his advanced age. The moment he left class, a teacher Draco did not recognize gave 'George' a detention at four on account of missing class. While Weasley could have simply nodded and said nothing, and quite possibly gotten his brother in detention, he loudly insisted he was not George, provoking the laughter of the exiting class. The confused teacher most likely noted the _extremely_ poor fit of his robes, a deviation from the standard poor fit of his robes, and apologized, though not terribly sincerely.

"I suppose she can't be blamed, Weasley- inbreeding and all," he had said, noticing Crabbe was directly behind him. Contrary to his expectations, the larger boy got his joke before he finished telling it.

"I challenge you to a duel," he said sincerely. "Third floor corridor, midnight come alone or don't- I'll take you all on." Weasley walked away with a clear sense of determination, scribbling in his potions book curiously enough.

"He's jealous of you, Malfoy," Crabbe explained. _Always figured it was a stupid explanation. Hearing it out of Vincent removes all doubt._

"All the same, I shall be there."

He would brush up on a few spells before the duel, he knew better than to stick to one, it was one thing to win, and another entirely to win only by hitting harder or faster. _That fool will see the heir of House Malfoy is no slouch, and so will everyone bold enough to witness our encounter._

 _This was long overdue._


	6. Unsupervised Dueling

The effects of Ron's aging potion had already diminished, but he knew exactly what he needed to do to make another one. He was able to record the mistakes he made, and he put together why they made them. _Getting too much juice out of the Chinese beetle things- must be the essential component or something._ Hermione Granger had bothered him many times over in the merits of note taking, and he believed his response was 'you can present the material, but you can't make me care'.

 _I'll bet she's happy I've found a reason to care. Can't wait to see the look on her face when she finds out what it is._

Ron had no idea about her fascination with following the rules, it was reasonable up to a point, but not walking on the grass in the courtyard seemed absurd, especially when there was no sign posted.

"Honestly, Ron, it's in _Hogwarts Rulebook_ , chapter ten, if I'm not mistaken."

"I have no doubt you're not mistaken, Hermione, I _just don't care_." He was willing to compete with her in magic, which seemed to be the only field in which he could beat her, except possibly flying. It was no fun being the better flier, especially because Quidditch was as of yet impossible and the girl seemed to be totally indifferent to the idea. _Witches._ "Is there a contest for following the most rules?"

"No, I checked. That kind of contest would make no sense, it would only make sense to have a contest to break the least rules."

"No it wouldn't, then it'd be a tie at zero between you and Neville. If it were the other way around they could make up new rules as tie-breakers." Ron happened to particularly enjoy the concept of a tie-breaker making things more exciting. It worked well enough in Quidditch.

"There would be _no need_ to decide a winner! Why would that be necessary? Why?"

"It wouldn't be much of a contest without a winner, would it?" He remembered she declared him to be impossible and stormed off. In his experience, that was admitting defeat, but it seemed to mean something different to the Ravenclaw.

Brewing another aging potion was a challenge, but one he could manage. He had requested of the professor that he have a chance to do it over, and Snape seemed to enjoy the idea. The fact that Dumbledore was passing by might have helped. Repeating his mistakes, he bottled the potion in an empty jar of Fizzing Whizzbees and stored it in his bag, muttering his gratitude that Snape had 'better things to do than watch the incompetent' and left the room. Ron knew the effects would only last an hour or so; that was how the potion was mostly designed, but Malfoy probably had no idea. The way the professor ignored the mistakes of the Slytherins, there was no way they were learning anything.

If Mr. Weasley impressed anything upon his children, it was that punishment was a necessary act of kindness. If Fred and George seemed badly behaved to the outsider, it was only because their parents, while mindful of their safety, saw legitimate creativity and promise in their twin sons, and as a result had a degree of leniency. What no one saw in the Weasley family was laziness. Bill grew into an interest in economics and ancient history, Charlie dragons, though if you asked his parents, that was always there. They initially had difficulty supporting his impassioned career move, but it worked out well. Percy had responded to discipline better than any of his brothers, almost too well. All the same, he was prepared and motivated; he anticipated a life with direction.

Snape seemed to be the opposite of what a good teacher should be. Hermione had argued that it was too early to judge him, and accused Ron of judging unjustly, but he dismissed the obviously incorrect conclusion as Percy-talk with a note that it would literally take a blind man not to notice the difference in the way students were treated based on house affiliation. He supposed it was possible she had Potions with the Hufflepuffs, or her class was all Ravenclaws.

Ron reached the Third Floor Corridor ahead of schedule, planning to drink his solution before Malfoy saw him, but it appeared he was not as alone as he would have hoped. He bumped into someone as he turned a corner without looking.

"Ronald Weasley!" A sudden shout rang out. "What are you doing out of b-bed?"

"I-I'm lost, sir, it's only my second day here." He could not see in the dark and dared not cast the light charm, but he knew it was Quirrell. "I'm really, really sorry, if you could just point me in the-"

"D-don't come near here again, Weasley."

"I-I don't know exactly where I am." Suddenly Ron hoped that the professor would not think he was mocking his stutter.

 _"Portus,"_ Quirrell cast, pointing his wand at the boy's shoes. Suddenly he was torn, hurtling through space like a madman until he landed in Gryffindor Common Room, where he raced up to bed, not wanting to be discovered out by _another_ teacher in the same night. There had to be a legal ruling about that, like double jeopardy. His re-entry to the boy's dormitory did not go unnoticed.

"Ron, go to bed," Dean instructed without any sort of question or complaint.

"Right, sorry," he muttered as he got into bed, heart hammering out of his chest. _What the bloody hell just happened? More importantly- where the bloody hell was Malfoy?_ Ron suddenly remembered something about appearing fashionably late. _That blonde git probably wouldn't have shown until fifteen minutes after midnight- I guess I could say I got tired of waiting._ He noticed he was managing to calm down and think, not that it would do him much good now. _Either it gets out that Quirrell sent me back or it doesn't. Either way, I didn't run._

The next day, the story was that Ron got cold feet and ran for it.

Apparently, Quirrell had decided not to report the incident, which was well enough as he had no desire to lose Gryffindor any more points than he already had. Malfoy arrived not too long after midnight, at least in his words, and the story was corroborated by Adrian Pucey, an older Slytherin who had come to officiate. Ron was surprised neither of them had been caught by Quirrell as well, and considered that the same thing had happened to both of them.

"I don't think so," Neville offered at lunch. "Pucey respects the Malfoy family, but thinks their son is a prat. He wouldn't have lied just to help him." He narrowly avoided dripping water on his book. "I don't blame you, though, Ron, I would have run for it in a heartbeat."

"Thanks, Neville. It's a real comfort."

To make matters worse, the Gryffindor boys had initially tried to defend him, but when they saw him come into the dorm breathless with a scared look on his face, there was no longer any question that their new mate had let them down. He saw Fred and George in a hallway between classes, and it would not have taken a Ministry investigation to determine who exactly had hit him with a tripping jinx, by which he landed on a third year girl, causing her to buckle and fall backward. He was hexed by one of her shouting friends as he tried to get up.

Ron spent his consequent detention playing chess with Percy, who was qualified to watch him as a Gryffindor Prefect. Despite how bad it looked to the passers by, a teacher or two who heard that his twin brothers had been there decided to let him off with what mostly constituted a warning, and it helped that Percy had been willing to speak for his character.

"Really, Ronald, I only wish you hadn't _started_ this mess by challenging the Malfoy boy to a duel. Do you even know any spells?"

"Enough. More than he does, anyway." Ron moved a bishop into what looked to be a deliberate bait. He elected not to tell his brother he would have used an aging potion for an extra bit of magical power. "I take it you heard about Fred and George being there?" he asked, changing the subject.

"It was more than enough to convince me. I admonish you that if you intend to be influenced by any of us, you have better choices than either of them."

"I don't want to be like them," Ron muttered. _I don't really want to be like any of you._ In response to Percy's refusal to take the false bait, he used his bishop to take a rook all the way across the board. The wooden holy man knocked the castle down with a wave of the hand.

He decided to do his assignments after the chess game was over.

Quirrell's orders irked him the most, but he knew it was just because he was ultimately responsible for his current predicament. Ron alternated between the knockback jinx and the tripping jinx. He cast a laughing hex on himself, but it failed to improve his mood. _Quirrell's not at fault for this._

Reading his potions book, it was becoming clearer what his mistake with the aging potion really was, why he had read it incorrectly and began to put together some of the recipes further along in the material. As a matter of interest, though possibly also out of spite, he figured out the most likely reason most potions, including Malfoy's, had little to no effect. Line breaks in the instructions indicated small time factors, usually only a few seconds, but if ignored the magical interaction between the ingredients would not have time to take place. Ingredients contained what was called _potentia veneficii,_ something that combined to have the desired effect.

Ron sighed. _Malfoy's not at fault for this._

He rose and left detention as he finished his work. That he would have to deal with being called a coward was easy enough to accept, but laying the blame for his current situation squarely where it belonged was more difficult. _I'm really only partly to blame for this. I did start it._

At breakfast the following morning he did not bother to sit with his fellow Gryffindors, or his brothers for that matter. _Definitely not Percy. He's not wrong about this, but it's probably the only thing that could make me look worse._ Instead he sat with Neville, who happened to be talking to Hermione about a friend of his.

"So he was saying that we have to stick together. I mean, look at Hogwarts. There just aren't that many students here, not any longer, he said."

"So I've heard," the witch responded, a note Ron could not identify in her voice. "I've gathered the declining attendance from _Hogwarts: A History._ But, tell me, what was your friend Silver's reason for telling you this?"

"I'm not quite sure," Neville responded honestly. "Doesn't seem too bad a fellow." Hermione shot Ron a look.

"It's possible. I mean, he hasn't done anything suspicious? Anything that might make you question his intentions?"

"No, not really, we just talk about things. My Gran said I probably wouldn't make a lot of friends."

The witch shook her head. "Nevile, between having a lot of friends, and having real friends, it's better to have real friends." Ron supposed he could hardly disagree, though he only knew a few people around Ottery St. Catchpole growing up. It was possible Hermione had a different experience.

"How about this- has he ever done anything he wouldn't do for any reason at all except because you were real friends?"

"Absolutely! I'd forgotten all about it, but he showed me how to fly," the large boy said between bites of toast. "He also warned me about Professor Snape- he's not going to go easy on me, that one."

"Neville," Ron started seriously, thinking. "Is your friend a Slytherin?"

"Oh, stop it, Ron," Hermione interrupted before he could answer. "I've met no fewer than three decent students in that house, and we haven't been here that long. Did your brothers tell you about them?"

"Yeah. They said the same things my dad said, who said the same things his dad said-"

"And they were all in Gryffindor?"

"It runs in our blood Hermione- it quite literally runs in our blood, same as them. You never get a Gryffindor out of a Slytherin family, not the other way around either."

"You mean to tell me that this whole thing falls apart if this isn't true once?" the Ravenclaw asked, somewhat exasperated. "If one student comes out of a family from the opposite house, then none of it's true at all?"

"That's going a bit far, but why not? It hasn't happened."

"You'll see," she said as she rose for class. Ron did not fail to notice that she refrained from comment about his supposed flight from a duel he proposed against Malfoy. _Either she's not convinced or sparing my feelings._

Neville looked over a copy of _The Daily Prophet_ that Hermione had been reading, possibly to accustom herself to what was going on outside the Muggle world. _Makes sense, I suppose._

"It says there's been a break-in at Gringotts," the Hufflepuff said. "Vault 713. Does that mean anything to you?"

"No. Ours is nowhere near there. Does it say whose it is?" Ron was legitimately confused as to how a break-in was even possible. He had seen the security himself. He had never been particularly concerned about it, but he had seen it.

"They can't tell you that kind of thing. Doesn't matter, really, the vault was already emptied by Hagrid." They glanced over at the half-giant. "Do you know him?"

"We've met."

"Never thought he had a vault," Neville wondered.

"He's the Keeper of Keys at Hogwarts. It could have been any one of hundreds of keys. Maybe a decade ago students kept losing their keys, that's why he watches yours so long as you're here." Charlie had heard it from an older student. They rose to leave for their first class. It was no secret that Hogwarts was the safest place in the world, so it made sense to take your key with you rather than leaving it at home. He also knew why there were students with their own vaults, as opposed to sharing one with family.

In Charms he was more prepared and performed marginally better than he had. Levitation was becoming easier, and the light charm was vibrant enough that he no longer had to read by candle light at night.

Eventually Percy came and found him, practicing alone.

"Ronald?"

"Yeah?" He tried the locking spell on a padlock he was holding. " _Colloportus."_

"Are you doing alright?"

"More or less. Can't figure out how to unlock the bloody thing again."

"No, do you have any friends?" he asked.

"In a manner of speaking," Ron responded, deciding on a sophisticated sounding phrase for Percy. "Why do you ask?"

"After our mother and father learned of what has taken place, they meant to send a Howler with regards to your impulsive dueling." _Something that could have gone worse didn't, who the bloody hell knew-_ "However, they were more concerned about your relative isolation. Apparently, you have not taken to the Gryffindor first years as expected."

"I don't hate them. They just hate me. _Alohamora._ "

"There's no emphasis on the incantation- look, Ronald, our parents expected you to find someone early on and latch on." the younger redhead looked up as his brother spoke, perturbed.

"I don't see how this is any of their _business. Alohamora!_ " The spell failed to work again, but not for his pronunciation. "How many days is it- ten?"

"Near enough. What's concerning is not that you haven't managed to make friends, but that you _have_ managed to ostracize yourself. You must realize that this isn't normal development, and it already looks as if you're not going to have _any_ good influences."

"So that's why you volunteered to watch me in detention!" Ron announced, realization dawning. " _Confringo!"_ The charm did not quite work as intended, but it did blast the lock open in a shower of sparks. "You just wanted to- to _herd_ me into some sort of positive influence! Well, it's not working. Leave me alone."

"I'm afraid, Ronald, that is precisely what I cannot do," Percy rejoined. "Solitude will do you no good."

"Percy, it's not as if they're going to hate me _forever_ ," Ron argued, imagining that exact scenario. "At least I don't think they will. Look, I challenge Malfoy to another duel, broad daylight, beat him like a Bludger, and everything goes back to the way it should have been- there's no need for anyone else to get involved."

"You are under no circumstances to challenge Malfoy to a duel- you're skating on thin ice as it is and I refuse to testify for your character a second time- it would only drag me down with you. You _will_ receive a more serious punishment than a detention and Malfoy knows it. He's a Slytherin, Ronald, he would much rather have you out of the way entirely than run the risk of losing a duel, and he's little to lose in the way of being seen as a coward. You challenge him to a duel, _he_ goes to Professor Snape, then the whole damnable story's changed thirty eight times before you even show up in the Headmaster's office." Percy pointed his wand at the broken lock. " _Reparo."_ Instantly the whole mechanism seemed to reassemble itself. "Use your head, Ronald. Your enemies will be using theirs."


	7. Inspectors

Hermione had been under the impression it was impossible to break into Gringotts, but she was taking the news better than Anthony, who seemed to be totally at a loss.

"Don't you see what this means? If someone can break into a vault at Gringotts, of all places, asset security basically doesn't exist! Imagine what will happen with investor confidence-"

"Anthony, that's really quite enough. There's no need to worry about your assets; they're improving the security-" she argued, interrupting. It was indecorous, yes, but he had gone on enough about it to disturb her reading. _I'm going to have to keep this one away from the Weasleys. They would have a field day if they learned about Anthony Goldstein, the walking stereotype._

"Why would I be worried about my own assets, Hermione?" he asked, suddenly in wonder.

"Do you have any intention to work with the goblins after graduation? Not that-"

"Oh, of course, it sounds like the most exciting career out there. What are your plans after graduation? Actuarial science?"

"Not really, I haven't decided. I'm still new to this whole magic thing." Just as she was sure he would go on about the time value of decision making and staying ahead of depreciation, a second-year Ravenclaw named Cho Chang entered, announcing she had made the Quidditch team.

"That's wonderful, Cho! Just goes to show you can be anything you want, doesn't it?" Hermione responded, staring at Anthony, who seemed to be missing the implication entirely.

"Most certainly. My parents know the best way to get ahead is by being top of the class, playing an instrument, and distinguishing myself in athletics."

 _God damn it._

Hermione's head swiveled to see if anyone had noticed she swore in her mind.

She had seen little of Ron Weasley, which was well enough, as it appeared he was studying, or at least practicing. It was her understanding that Neville sometimes joined him, but that was no matter of great concern as she doubted either of them knew enough spells to hurt each other.

What concerned her was the rumor about the Inspectors from the education department at the Ministry of Magic. As near as she could figure, the Ministry was partially elected by a simple majority, though many of the positions of power were appointed from within. As a result, the government was highly bureaucratic, with very little room, if any, for grassroots change. The Inspectors showed up at Hogwarts once every three years, but at an uncertain time.

The Ravenclaws managed to distract Professor McGonagall in Transfiguration long enough for an explanation.

"The Headmaster has informed me that he suspects this will be nothing more than a routine inspection. As always, there will be three of them to arrive at uncertain points in the year. They have every search authorization, though they usually perform a broad sweep and find nothing, as expected." A hand shot up. "Yes, Miss Patil?"

"Professor, what are they trying to find?"

"Dark wizards- the threat is minimal, but they believe that as all magical children in Britain go through Hogwarts, it is the most effective time to perform a search." _So it works like a sieve- with a funnel on top._

"They've never found one?"

"No, never," McGonagall concluded as she quickly resumed the discussion on transfiguring living things out of inanimate objects, which continued to baffle Hermione. She had taken the opportunity to read about Inspections, which had apparently been instituted by a Hogwarts professor in the mid twentieth century after growing concerns, but that was all the resource said.

In the library, she found not what she was currently seeking, but a valuable book nonetheless. Reading on old Slytherin families to look for any trace of a Gryffindor, she first looked through the Malfoy family tree, and failing that she looked through a closely related family and an apparently quite ancient one. The Black family was solid green until a man named 'Sirius' caught her eye. She had been thinking that she would at least find some evidence of two families being related, as all magical families were at some extent, but what she found was even better. As a cherry on top, the whole Black family seemed to believe in a wizarding version of supremacy doctrine, and quite a few were dead or 'locked away in Azkaban', which she supposed was a prison. Checking the book out, she went to her next class, deciding she was most likely to see Ron in the Great Hall.

In the hallways she passed by a tight group of Hufflepuffs talking in hushed voices, but she thought better of deliberately approaching them to find out what they were saying.

Potions class was nothing special, as always, though she could tell the instructor interpreted the 'correctness' of potions by his own metric. Hermione doubted he was as bad as Ron said- if nothing else, he was a highly qualified teacher, though there was a rumor that suggested he had his eye on the Defense position. For some reason, he seemed to ignore her efforts to draw his attention when she believed she knew the right answer, but the most likely explanation for that was a round-robin question and answer policy.

Contrary to her expectations, it was not Ron she found with Neville, but a different boy entirely. Dressed in Slytherin robes, she might have seen him before, but he seemed to be another walking stereotype from the way he went on with the trusting Hufflepuff. The Ravenclaw caught herself making that distinction, the second one in a day, no less, and narrowly avoided mentally swearing again.

"Draco," Hermione addressed suddenly, remembering his name as he discussed something he was noticing in his own house.

"Yes?"

"Did you tell Neville your nickname was 'Silver'?"

"I did. And you are?" he drawled in response.

"She's Hermione Granger," the other boy answered on her behalf. "She's brilliant-" An unidentifiable look of concern briefly flickered on Draco's face. "Say, she could tell us about what's been going on in Ravenclaw."

"That will not be necessary. I looked into the matter and apparently they're all one-dimensional caricatures with no variability."

"There is- most certainly- variability in our house," Hermione responded, stunned, face flush.

"Notice how she's not contradicting me on that her yearmates are caricatures."

"Neat trick, Silver," Neville responded as the appall grew in her expression.

" _Neat trick, Silver?!_ " the witch shrieked, losing her composure. "Neville, his name's Draco and the only one he's tricking is _you_. He told you to refer to him as Silver so your real friends wouldn't figure out who he was- anyone who so much as _knows his name_ could smell something fishy. You _have to_ realize he's up to something. You're related to the Black family, aren't you? How many of your family members are in jail?" she asked accusingly.

Draco stared back a bit before answering.

"Hermione, there's more than one black family in England, and just because they're black, doesn't mean they're in prison, or trying to steal something from you," the Slytherin said calmly, something of a smirk fading from his lips.

"I challenge you to a duel!" she declared angrily, not knowing how else to respond. "Two on two- bring whomever you like from the first-years." Hermione rose and stormed off angrily. _How could Neville be so stupid? Well, it's more like Draco's just clever._

She had learned of Ron's predicament after talking to his House Prefect and part time elder brother, whom she found to be a reasonable enough individual. Their conversation had initially been about the Ministry, where Percy had ambitions to work, though it shifted to the younger Weasley rather quickly. Apparently the boy was itching to get back at Draco, but would be severely punished if he started it. He continued to practice in the vain hope that the Malfoy heir would challenge him, though he was cleverer than that. _Looks like this plan just might not work out for you, Draco._

She had little against him, even after the display he put on in Defense, all that meant was that he was a prat. Their last conversation, however, revealed more than enough of his character.

Finding Ron in Charms the following day, she explained what had happened.

"You got a duel with Malfoy?" He sounded almost jealous.

"He won't refuse- he _can't_ refuse. The best part is, it's pairs."

"Did he say when it was?"

"No." _I was too angry to arrange that- trust him to come up with something that works to his advantage._

"Well, we could do it Halloween night- no one would miss us in the Great Hall."

Hermione decided Ron was right to have his doubts about sneaking out after hours again. She had not for a moment doubted his willingness to duel Malfoy, but he had not bothered to tell her what actually happened. Considering his better spirits, she decided to ask later.

"Well, it was weird. I went there just a bit early, and I ran into Quirrell going around a corner-"

" _Professor_ Quirrell," she corrected.

"Yeah, and he sent me back to Gryffindor by portkey- I may have pretended I was lost."

Hermione listened as he explained it, but there was something that was difficult to understand. As she understood it- portkeys were instant, or near enough. If he had disappeared before midnight, the latest anyone would have seen him was still before midnight. _He couldn't have run after Malfoy arrived- he said it himself that he arrived after midnight._

She worked on her Charms assignment toward the end of class, already ahead on the spellwork. Ron had been less interested in charms in relation to jinxes and hexes, but was making considerable progress all the same. He seemed particularly annoyed by the ones he deemed 'useless'.

"Oh, come off it, is anyone going to put a wand to your head and tell you to to change the color of something or get an explosion to the ear?" he had asked. "What about the somnambulating charm? Can't figure out why anyone would _want_ to use the leg-growth-charm. Merlin, look at that incantation. _Tarantallegra?_ Are they absolutely daft?" Oddly enough, it brought a bit of a smile to her face, though she proudly declared she would print his words out and make him eat them one day, though he seemed to be even more baffled by what 'printing out' was, and whether or not it was a charm.

Professor Sprout had some minor comments about Neville in Herbology; apparently he enjoyed it, whether or not he was particularly good at avoiding getting covered in Bubotuber pus. When Hermione asked if there were any other noteworthy students in the first year, the instructor also commented on Hannah Abbot. _Hufflepuffs._

The voice inside her head would eventually leave her alone for classifying the gifted plant-watchers, technically the Sorting Hat beat her to it and there were only two of them, not nearly enough to cast judgement on the lot. It was almost an engrossing enough subject to keep her from noticing the older witch behind her. Hermione kept her eyes forward, relatively sure she was not being followed. Speeding up to take a turn, she caught a glimpse of the woman by peripheral vision- a stocky, thick looking witch. She had never been one to take stock of appearances, but it was safe to say she had never seen her before. _Best to play it safe-_ Hermione ducked into an empty classroom and allowed the witch to pass. _If she follows me in here, she'll give herself away._

As a few minutes passed and nothing happened, she began to feel silly, getting worked up over nothing. She knew she was no stereotypical Gryffindor, taking every challenge that came her way and handing them out one for one- but it did not do to be frightened without cause. Fear clouded the mind and could reliably generate incorrect conclusions.

Peering out, she saw no one.

It was curious to her that she never guessed the wizarding world might be a dangerous place. She imagined there was little to no poverty, at least by a normal person's definition- regular crime was almost entirely out the window. Dark wizards were the boogeyman of a bygone era, the fact that they were going to such lengths to look for them only proved how few of them there were. _Worse yet, they're looking for them in secondary school- I suppose there may be some natural proclivity for dark magic, but isn't it a little early?_ She had some idea of the amount of resources spent hunting down the last few Nazis, digging them out of the tree hollows in the jungles of South America, in some cases all for being on the wrong side of a war. Of course criminals needed to be brought to trial, but most crimes had a statute of limitations after which it was impossible to prosecute.

Hermione was beginning to wonder what manner of world into which she had wandered.

 _The Inspectors haven't been officially announced- though it was supposed to be a surprise. Is this just work ethic gone mad?_

Classes went well enough, though she had to explain why she was late. Fortunately, she had built up enough credit as a legitimately good student for her excuses to be believed, though she had no intention of taking that for granted. As she got to Defense Against the Dark Arts, she remembered that Halloween was coming up and it was best to inform Draco of the time of the duel. With any luck, she might learn who would be his partner. _If it's either of those bull boys who follow him around, I expect no trouble._

The subject of class was evasive action. It was different, as it was not entirely a magical technique, though certain spells like the locking charm would help here and there. Professor Quirrell explained that most of the time, it was better to recognize the difference in abilities and escape. Using magic was almost impossible when panicking, especially for first-years, so he decided to have the students pair up and chase each other around the castle. To represent the difference in abilities, the runner would not be using magic except potions, and only if he or she happened to possess them. _If there's such thing as a speed potion, I should probably invest the time in making one, though invisibility might be more versatile._ Paired up with Draco for the first time in weeks, the simple task before her was to find him in minimal time and hammer out the details of their upcoming duel. He was granted thirty seconds head start. It did not escape her notice that Vincent Crabbe received a whole minute before Ravenclaw's Terry Boot was allowed after him. _I suppose it doesn't replicate real world conditions, but Crabbe would hardly learn anything if he were caught straight off. That's not to say he won't still learn nothing, of course._

As she kept a good pace going after the Malfoy heir and trying to figure out where he could be headed, it occurred to her that their instructor may have intentionally paired them across Houses, as a motivation. _In our case, it makes even more sense- he probably figures Draco would keep a chip on his shoulder._ At first it appeared his pattern was random, perhaps to take advantage of the chaotic nature of the assignment, but he managed to lead her into a moving group of third years, forcing her to go around and lose distance. She attempted a leg-locking hex, but missed twice and gave it up. _I just can't hit him at this distance- or at this speed. I have to catch up without using magic._

Reaching the moving stairs, the tripping jinx and the leg-locking hex were out of consideration. _Tripping him up here might as well be a lethal curse._ She chased him onto a stair that was swinging at its base and tapped the banister with her wand, stopping its movement as it was about to reach the lower landing. Draco turned.

" _Arresto Momentum?_ " he asked. "Learn that one in a book?"

"I did. I figured it would be useful- more so now that I have you cornered."

"You have me cornered only for my lack of a wand, Granger. Were I allowed to use magic, I would have waited around a corner and cursed you. There were several places where I could have done it." It occurred to her that he was telling the truth; there were times he would make two successive turns to go around a wall separating two hallways. She would have kept running, assuming he would do the same, and it would have been the simplest matter to hit her in the back with a tripping jinx, which might have knocked her teeth out. Bleeding and on the ground, there would be a lot less she could do about further attacks.

"I suppose. The purpose of this exercise, though, was to test our ability to evade a magically superior opponent." She stepped out onto the stair, not stopping to undo its arrested momentum. "How many curses do you know, Draco?"

"More than enough. Find out Halloween night," he answered as Hermione stifled a laugh.

"Funny. Ron said the same thing."

"Ron who?"

"Weasley," she responded, nearly losing her composure to confusion.

"Of course you're taking him- he's the only one mad enough to go up against me."

"So you know-" Hermione announced loudly before he could go back on it. "You know Ron didn't run out on the duel."

"Of course not. I saw Quirrell going out the door in the third floor corridor moments before I arrived. I ran for it myself- I know he's been up to something there; my sentries have told me as much. All the same, what better way to win than by default?"


	8. The Development

Neville was in the Great Hall with everyone else when Professor Dumbledore announced that there would be an inspection of the school, in accordance with an agreement between Hogwarts, the school governors, and the Ministry of Magic. _I guess that's everybody._

"The Inspectors have given their word to be unobtrusive, respecting the privacy of the students to the point of being unable to do their jobs. You have my word that they will not use Legilimency, but they are at liberty to use any other machination to gain information, including posture as Hogwarts teachers or students. You are not in any way required to help them with their search, but I would ask that you not impede them, as their work is of great importance. As a final note, my students, to prove to you that this was done only with the best of intentions, the teachers and staff will be under the same scrutiny." The speech was short, but not far removed from the way the Headmaster usually talked.

His grandmother had impressed upon him that he give the man his utmost respect, and it had been easier than expected. Ordinarily, when she asked him to respect someone or something, it was confusing. Crabbe and Goyle came over for dinner once, and he found it impossible to respect them. They always seemed to want something out of the Longbottom matron, and their sons were uncouth and spoiled. He knew he respected his grandmother, but found it impossible to respect these gentlemen, no matter how hard he tried. Eventually he decided she meant him to pretend to respect them, which worked well enough for their taste.

By contrast it was rather easy to look up to Dumbledore, even trust him, though he knew so little about the wizard himself. He had led Frank and Alice Longbottom in the wizarding war and they held him to number among the greatest men who ever lived. He treated his inferiors better than most people treated their equals, his achievements and abilities were nearly beyond measure, and he never spoke a word about them.

"Do you think we'll see any of them?" Ernie asked him, tapping him on the shoulder.

"I don't know. If I saw them, I probably wouldn't realize it," Neville responded. "Gran says it's not to worry, though, Dumbledore's got this well in hand." He remembered telling Silver what his well-connected grandmother had told him about the Inspectors. There would be three of them, as always, and they would be highly skilled in a variety of magical arts. The students would know when they would start appearing, but not where they would be or when they would be there.

"Dumbledore? Dean and Seamus are saying _he's_ got nothing to fear from them. Couldn't spy on him if they had a century to try. Not really risking anything himself." Ernie took a sip of water. "I have nothing against him, myself, it just seems an empty gesture, at least on his part."

Neville had difficulty disagreeing with the point, but he doubted Dumbledore had anything to hide, whether or not he prevented the Inspectors from looking into his affairs seemed entirely irrelevant, at least to him. Silver had mentioned hearing quite a few unfavorable things about their esteemed headmaster, not all of which could be attributed to the long standing feud between Gryffindor and Slytherin. He had not been aware of Dumbledore's house loyalty, he had been of the opinion that such loyalties had to be cut as the Headmaster of Hogwarts, however little he himself liked the idea.

Apparently Silver's father knew more than enough about questionable actions of the leader in the war of the wizarding world, moving people about like chess pieces and sacrificing them as need be. His grandmother had told him about what had happened to his parents, and though he had been indirectly commanding them, he could imagine no way that Frank and Alice Longbottom were deliberately sacrificed.

After the announcement, students seemed to be especially wary about the Inspectors, checking behind corners and opening doors. Some of the older students seemed entirely unfazed, which seemed odd, though as he checked his Remembrall, he decided what he must have been forgetting was that the inspections happened once every three years, and some of them would remember previous times. Either there was no need to search for them, or there was no point. Neville was leaning toward the latter explanation, especially in his case.

The magical glass trinket revealed he was not forgetting anything about the details of the duel in which Silver was soon to be engaged. It would take place in the Entrance Courtyard, near enough to the Great Hall, though he had no idea how they planned to get into the Halloween feast after it started without being caught. He had told his opponent, Hermione, that his second would be a capable, trusted friend, though Neville wondered who it was. He had been watching Silver here and there to get an idea, but he could only do so while pretending to work on a pet project for Herbology, Devil's Snare watered with Shrinking Solution. Ron Weasley had been kind enough to make the potion for him, even going somewhat out of his way.

"It's first-year stuff, anyway- nothing I shouldn't be able to handle," he had said. "How small does this thing have to be anyway?" Neville awkwardly gestured between his hand and the end of his wand, nervousness causing yellow sparks to jump out. "Fair enough, that's just more Abraxan mane. Real pain Snape has to get it from the continent, I reckon. Bastard walked right into it, I say- gave me detention for getting it right again- or near enough."

"Why are you doing this for me, Ron?" he asked suddenly, the petty revenge on Snape seeming insufficient. The red-haired boy thought a moment.

"Well, you're one of the only people who talks to me and you know it. Shame it took something like that blonde git being deceitful, but I suppose I've worked out who my real friends are."

Neville put the completed solution into an empty pumpkin juice bottle and left. He hoped he would be able to prepare it, having watched carefully.

Classes were going well enough, but he was not excelling in anything except Herbology, and he had no idea how his grandmother would react- her expectations were an utter mystery to him. He supposed a normal child would have been able to figure it out, but between the times she was telling him he would never amount to anything and the times she extolled the greatness of his parents, explaining how he would carry on the legacy, he was at a loss. Asking Hermione helped little.

"Really, Neville, you shouldn't try to be exactly like your parents- what House were they?"

"Gryffindor, both of them-" he trailed off.

"Right, so your grandmother is expecting you to be something you're not. The Sorting Hat said as much, after all," the Ravenclaw said as he frowned. "What?"

"Well, I feel like I could maybe have been brave, if I'd learned. I don't know what I was hoping- maybe an example." _All I've had all my life is my grandmother and all she does is knock me down._

"There really isn't a need to worry about what _might_ have happened, Neville- it's not possible to keep track of all that. A minute ago, you could have sat with Ron instead, can you even imagine how many different ways things might have gone?"

"Yes, but it's beginning to hurt my head."

"Well, yes, that's all it ever really does. It's useless. There's absolutely nothing more useless than looking at some series of events and imagining how it could have turned out differently. I suppose you could learn from your mistakes, but really it's better to just not make them."

That night he walked back to the Hufflepuff common room and found it empty, the comfy chairs with the yellow and black trim unoccupied, the normally busy painting around the room waiting listlessly. He ran a finger in the dust under the face of the stately grandfather clock.

"May I ask you something?" the painting was of a middle-aged witch, a warm and welcoming smile on her face. "Why do you not do anything while we're not here?"

"Well, is an animated painting still moving if no one is around to see it move?"

"I don't know. Are you sure you weren't meant for the Ravenclaw dorm?" Neville asked, remembering something about riddles.

"No, child," she responded, her smile amused. "The truth is, it doesn't matter whether we do anything or not if no one's around to see us. That's what gives us meaning, dear boy."

"What?"

"It's you, the living. After all, we had to be painted by someone, you know."

"I suppose," Neville said, thinking about it. He had never given any particular thought to the paintings. Checking his Remembrall, he confirmed his suspicion that he had not simply forgotten about it. He had asked his grandmother once if the paintings were alive, because they could talk, but she corrected the notion rather swiftly.

Arthur Weasley happened to be over at the time.

"Augusta, I tell all my children the same thing- never trust anything that can think for itself if you can't see where it keeps its brain."

Neville looked down at his Remembrall, indicating that he had, indeed, forgotten that piece of advice as the red smoke vanished. _Oddly useful little trinket, I suppose._ He pocketed it and made his way up to the dorm, where Ernie was studying, though not neglecting to distract his neighbors and be distracted by them in turn.

"Hiya Neville- what's eating you?"

"Oh, it's nothing in particular. It's just that enchanted objects that seem to be alive really get to me sometimes. They know they're not alive. Why do we... consign them to that fate?"

"I'm not sure," Ernie started. "Suppose they made a smarter House Elf- like one that knew it wasn't a person."

"Wait, what do you mean?" Neville asked suddenly.

"Well, I spoke with some of the older students, and they have come to the conclusion that elves aren't people- they don't feel empathy- least not the way we wizards do. Anyway, suppose it knows it's not a person. It really shouldn't have a problem with that, since that's all it ever was. It shouldn't want to be something it can't be. If it does want to be something it can't be, then don't worry about it, it's just being silly." the other Hufflepuff concluded.

"But what if it's not being silly? What if there's something that was something else before and wants to go back?" he asked, thinking of the paintings. They had to have memories from their lives, they had to remember being alive. Neville hoped his painting would be as forgetful as he was.

"Well obviously, there are adults who want to be children again, but that's rather silly, isn't it? It sounds like they just haven't accepted being old." For some reason he had the idea that Ernie was getting almost all of this from someone else. He knew it was possible for first-years to be smart and capable; there was Hermione after all, but it was rare. His grandmother had told him in no uncertain terms that young people knew nothing, and he himself was the extreme of that axiom. The rhetoric that this first-year was using was far afield of something he was likely to invent on his own.

"Well, growing up is a normal change. It's not really a bad thing, either. What do you do if you're cursed and it can't be fixed and you're disfigured?"

"I have absolutely no idea, Neville," the other boy said unexpectedly. "Why do you want to know?"

"I can't remember. Where did you hear about House Elves and what makes a person?"

"I can't remember," Ernie responded, a new expression of casual suspicion developing.

"Did you hear it in one of our discussions?" Neville had not been to any recent discussions of what was going on in their lives; he had been busy with homework he had forgotten. All the same, he was able to provide Silver with information he apparently found boring, though he refused to admit it to spare Neville's feelings. In turn the Slyterin told him about a man who could talk to the giant squid, a girl claiming to be the reborn wife of Salazar himself, and a plot to murder the Headmaster. It was an absolute wonder how he knew all these things, and yet he always told Neville not to feel bad, as he was just as interested about everything he had to say. One thing that piqued his interest somewhat in the past week was remembering the older Hufflepuff witch who helped him on the first day.

"A portkey?" Silver had asked. "Not many students can make one of those."

"I know it's not half so impressive as a dragon Patronus, but I swear I know what I saw. I've used portkeys before." It bewildered him how there was a first-year Slytherin who could already fend off Dementors, but he pushed the thought aside. If he thought too long about everything that confused him, he would simply find himself in a constant state of confusion.

"No, no, worry not. I happen to have a fascination with portkeys. Tell me, what was used as the object?" Flustered, Neville rifled through his bag before remembering he had left it in the dormitory.

"A book on... dirt... magic dirt, I believe."

"Really now." The expression Silver wore was the ultimate height of disinterest. He was even eyeing his fingernails. "Sometimes books with uninteresting exteriors are used to hide more noteworthy titles. It could simply be a glamour. Have you looked through this book yet?" Neville explained that indeed he had read at least most of it, and nothing in particular stood out to him as something that would interest Silver. It was growing on him, though. The Slytherin waved it off.

"I should not have expected anything, really. No one uses anything of value as a portkey; it defeats the purpose. My father once used a dead elf, though that was the war."

Neville hoped he would be as cool as Silver already was by fourteen or fifteen.

The following day he took a free period to practice flying, having done most of his homework and checked his Remembrall to ensure he had an accurate idea of what he had left. It was his understanding that first-years were not allowed to participate in Quiditch, which was fine by him, but neither Silver nor Ron had been in agreement with the regulation. Hermione had thought it was sensible, and Ernie was on the same page. If his dorm mate had any aspirations for the Hufflepuff Quidditch team, he had yet to reveal them. Presently, it seemed the fourth-year Cedric Diggory was a shoe-in for captain for the remainder of his time at Hogwarts, but Neville knew little else. In truth, he simply liked flying, and for no reason more complex than because it was exhilarating and exhausted him somehow.

Going over the Forbidden Forest was as poorly advised as going into it, he could imagine himself being riddled with arrows from the centaurs below, and had no wish to be shipped home as a bled sponge for his grandmother to shout at him more. He was riding one of the better school brooms, not allowed to so much as possess one of his own and not about to test the rule. He noticed a couple minuscule notches had been carved into the wood of the handle, but could not for the life of him figure out why that might have been. As he was looking down, he saw a man making his way across the grounds, taking care to look around behind him. _It's probably nothing important. Either way, I'd just as soon not concern myself with it at all._

That evening there was a moderate fuss at the Slytherin table, though he was unable to discern the reason. A Hufflepuff Prefect whose name escaped him volunteered to see what was the matter, and the rest of them craned their necks. Neville imagined Hermione would have a better view, but Silver probably already knew what was going on weeks in advance. That was an advantage he had over the Ravenclaw witch, some things simply had not been written in books.

The Prefect returned to inform them that a student had been spotted outside the forbidden door on the Third Floor Corridor. As it was unseemly for any of them to remain, gawking as they were, they were to return to Hufflepuff basement at once.

"How was he spotted?" Ernie asked. "Was there a teacher watching?" It suddenly occurred to Neville that there would be no point in warning the students had there been plans to post a teachers' watch. If the rouge student was spotted, it would have been by someone who was simply passing by at the time.

As could have been expected, Macmillan's question went entirely unanswered. Hufflepuff House seemed more or less content to hear whatever it was that happened from Professor Dumbledore, if and when he chose to speak about it. Neville supposed he saw the reason in that. Dumbledore, if anyone, would get to the bottom of whatever was going on, he knew that much.


	9. Halloween Duel

Draco expected he may have been more confident than he should have that his partner would show.

Weasley and Granger were already there when he arrived, fashionably late as always.

"Didn't turn up, then? Who was it, anyway?" Ron asked. "Can't imagine why anyone would want to fight for your pasty, bony-" Hermione nudged him and Draco mentally shrugged. It was possible she was not one to hold grudges, or at least not be seen to hold any. She would not be fighting out of pure anger, or at least it would take a bit of effort to goad her into it.

"All in good time, Weasley," Draco responded, smiling smugly.

Neville rounded the corner.

" _Neville?_ " Granger asked, shocked.

" _Longbottom?_ " It appeared Weasley could not have expected it less.

"Here we are. Anyway, for the purposes of the duel, we'll consider surrender, unconsciousness, and inability to move as valid loss conditions," Draco continued, shamelessly parroting his father. "Unforgivable curses will be out of bounds for legal reasons-"

"Neville, why are you helping him?"

"He's my friend. I was on the fence about it, but he asked me for help and I couldn't say no."

"Draco, could you not find anyone else?" Hermione asked, not willing to let it go. "We'd really rather not- have to fight him."

"You're worried about making a mess of me, aren't you?" Neville asked, suddenly angry. "You don't see why he couldn't have chosen Crabbe or Goyle if he thinks his chances are good enough with me?"

"No, no- Neville, we had been thinking he would have picked someone we didn't like, someone from Slytherin," Ron explained, covering for the flustered Hermione. "You don't have any friends from your own House?"

"Don't you, Granger?" Draco interjected. In truth, he doubted very many of his friends would have gone along with this. They had yet to take to his charm, and while he was of an ancient house, he was still a first-year. "Did Goldstein not suit your fancy? Did he not have any _interest_?" The Ravenclaw was struggling to contain herself. She had challenged him to a duel on impulse; it made sense that she was trying to get a better handle on her anger. He was not above the occasional outburst himself, especially when the consequences were unimportant, but his father had impressed upon him that he would have to always remain in control.

Weasley drew, wordlessly insisting the duel begin at once.

Draco deflected a knockback jinx from the Gryffindor and a leg-locker from the Ravenclaw, grateful he had some defensive training. Longbottom tossed a glass bottle between his opponents before taking a tearful stinging hex from the witch and shouting. The container broke, its contents rapidly expanding. Draco deflected another jinx as he watched the plant knock Weasley off his feet. _Clever, Longbottom- not particularly useful in most cases, but clever._ Granger tried to produce fire from her wand in response to what was beyond all doubt a plant, though one that was mostly going after their opponents. _No wonder he told me to try to stand as still as possible during the encounter. I had no intention of running, of course, but this is beyond expectations._ From the ground, Weasley hit the Hufflepuff with a knockback to the feet and Draco deflected the second, firing a cutter at one of the plant's tendrils as it extended toward him.

" _Confringo!"_ the red head shouted, pointing at the plant that was engulfing his partner. Though the Slytherin did not recognize the spell, Lord Malfoy would never forgive him if he did not recognize the opportunity the Weasley idiot was leaving him.

" _Flippendo!"_ he shouted, knocking him on his feet as part of the plant exploded. Turning to Longbottom, he extended a hand to help him to his feet as he saw Granger's wand arm forcibly restrained by a tendril. "I'll let you have this last one." The round boy nodded.

" _Locomotor Mortis!"_ he cast, carefully pointing at the Gryffindor, beginning to rise again. The boy's legs snapped together and he lost his balance.

"Enough, please- we give up, just get rid of this Devil's Snare!"

"Tired of it already, Granger? They say it's deadly fun," Draco chided. "Unfortunately, we need a surrender from both parties. _Flippendo._ " He knocked Weasley backward again, landing with a groan.

"Silver, I'm pretty sure, well, sure enough that if either partner surrenders-" he paused as some sort of sound could be heard in the distance.

"Right. It's a pairs duel, not a duelist and second affair." _He doesn't need to know I just wanted to jinx that moron again. So long as the moron does-_

Longbottom found what appeared to be a central bulb of the plant Granger had described as 'Devil's Snare' and cut it free, putting it into a vial. The writhing mass of tendrils died and released the witch, who quickly fought to be on top of them, presumably to help the Weasley moron, even more humiliated than he was before.

" _Finite Incantatem._ " the Hufflepuff cast ineffectively.

"Thanks for trying, Neville." the redhead said grimly. "Suppose it's the thought that counts." Granger cast it properly as Draco absorbed the moment, delighting in his most recent victory. Things were definitely shaping up for his first year at Hogwarts, he had already won two duels, neither of which he had actually started. He caught sight of Quirrell sprinting past them, screaming.

"TRRROOOLLLL-" he looked at them suddenly, shocked. "What are you doing here? You're not supposed to b-be here- G-get to the G-great Hall, now! Fifty p-points from all of you!" Weasley was about to protest, but Granger thought better of it for him, dragging him on with Longbottom. What little Draco knew about trolls was enough that he had no wish to duel one, and while it was true that Slytherins were no scared little Hufflepuffs, they knew how to avoid risking their necks. The Defense teacher sprinted past them into the Great Hall, screaming away his warning.

"TRRROOOOOLLLL- in the d-dungeon!" He promptly collapsed in a heap. There was a brief, stunned silence before the room erupted into a panic, students making to run for it and teachers struggling to contain them. Albus Dumbledore silenced the deafening din and Professor McGonagall took over, ordering the students to follow the Prefects back to the dormitories.

"We can't do that!" Draco interjected suddenly as he put the pieces together. "We'll be killed! She's trying to kill us!" His mind was racing, panicking as order was regained in the room. _Do they not realize? Why is no one listening?_ Forcing himself to regain composure, he got Longbottom's attention. "We have to kill the troll. It's better if we find it than if it finds us." The boy was shaking all over.

"A troll, Silver- we can't kill a troll!"

"They're sending us right for it- we'll have to fight it one way or another, and if we're packed like ice, fifty of us die before it does." Draco realized he was afraid, deathly afraid, but forcing himself to stay alive. "If we split up, it'll only kill a few of us." He glanced over to Granger and Weasley, who seemed to be stunned by the developments.

"Draco, you can't go after it alone- that's suicide- with the rest of your House, you'll have older students-" the witch choked out.

"And we'll be packed in a single file line!" he argued, exploding. "You admit it's right on the path- you know they're killing us- Quirrell could have done it, he's been teaching us about trollls- he must know something- how does a brainless beast like that get into the castle?" A strange expression of consideration developed on the Weasley's freckled face, but the girl rushed forward, guiltily grabbing him by the arm.

"Draco, he's a teacher- he wouldn't _kill_ us. Neville, I'm sorry about what we said about you, I'm sorry about everything- this whole thing started- this doesn't make any sense, why are we doing this?" Longbottom seemed to be at a loss of how to respond to the witch who was losing her composure; Draco wagered his own was hanging by a thread. A crashing sound could be heard making its way to the courtyard. Everyone froze. The troll came into full view, brandishing some sort of club at them.

"Hermione, run!" Weasley shouted. " _Confringo!"_ A sparking explosion separated the troll from its weapon, but it continued to charge, undeterred. Granger moved quickly, but not without screaming a knockback jinx at the brute's feet, pleading at the others to get away. The beast seemed to be fixated on Longbottom, who needed no persuasion to be on his merry way. Deciding he still had use for the scared Hufflepuff, Draco fired a tripping jinx, but the troll likely stepped over whatever magical obstacle that was supposed to trip him, as he had already eliminated the possibility that he was panicking and missed. Weasley and his little girlfriend seemed to have the same idea to hit it in the leg with a levitation charm, but it was a target moving too quickly to hit. Longbottom turned to fire some panicked spell, but not before Draco could knock him out of the way of a downward blow from the troll. _Maybe a cutter-_ The beast turned to him.

" _Diffindo!_ " he shouted, hoping it would make contact with sufficient force to cut. He had aimed for the neck, but the monster took the blow in the chest, to little effect save making him angrier. He screamed, though not in a _terribly_ girly way as he leaped out of the way. A group of Gryffindor students passed by, possibly on the way to their own dormitories. _Couldn't be bothered to help us?_ He noticed McGonagall using a shielding charm of some sort as the troll heaved a loose piece of masonry from the ground at Granger, causing it to bounce off into the crowd. Countless jinxes and curses from wands blasted the brute straight off his feet from their sheer numbers. The beast howled as Draco's cutter took his hand off, but he only threw it at Weasley, who had just hit him in the eyes. _There were worse targets he could have chosen, I suppose. Good thing it was a crowd of Gryffindors._ The younger among that same crowd were thrown into a panic, spreading out and levitating more broken pieces of masonry at him, more serious spellwork coming from older students, the one teacher refusing to panic and casting shield charms. _I hope they die- I hope this is all on your hands._ Draco deflected a projectile sent his way and it sailed over the crowd, breaking as it hit a pillar.

"Draco Malfoy!" McGonagall addressed sharply. He took a glance at the dead troll before turning.

"Yes, Deputy Headmistress?"

"Do you believe you have the _privilege_ of deflecting rocks in the direction of my students?" the crowd broke for a moment and he saw a group of older students struggling to heal a boy with a rock in his head.

"I- the one I deflected went over them- there were more than enough rocks in the air-"

"And just what are you doing here?"

"Granger challenged me to a duel!" _Remain calm- don't lose your composure._

"Professor, it's-"

"Not now, Longbottom. Upon being roused, Professor Quirrell informed me that the four of you were out here- not in the Great Hall-"

"What was _he_ doing out of the Great Hall? How did the troll get in here?"

"Professor Quirrell is at liberty of the grounds. You were supposed to be in the Great Hall!" The disciplinarian was beginning to lose her temper.

"Hogwarts is supposed to be secure!" he shouted. The silence was overwhelming.

"Draco Malfoy, that's more than enough! 200 points from Slytherin and indefinite detention! A letter will be written to your family regarding your actions!"

"I'll write it myself!" Draco shouted back, furious. He had not killed the troll on his own, but he had done his bit. Professor Snape would happily correct the House Points, and a letter home to his parents would straighten the story, but indefinite detention was not something he could escape without higher authority. _Better not to make it worse for myself- can't reason with this hag._ The other students were disciplined for getting involved, but it appeared Granger had already made a silent escape. _Clever- at least Weasley can't escape punishment- she's his Head of House._

Longbottom seemed to blend in with the rest of the students, a downcast expression of guilt on his face. Draco was momentarily perturbed that he had not shared in the punishment at all, but all of a sudden he felt ashamed. _I dragged him into this after all._ It was impossible to avoid. It seemed like only moments ago when he asked Neville if he would partner for a duel. He remembered the round boy insisting that he would not be much help, but Draco knew better. He was a sight better than either Crabbe or Goyle, and with Goyle being held in the dungeons for rule breaking, he needed Crabbe covering the door on the Third Floor Corridor, the very same task the other one had been caught doing.

It had been a confusing affair. Draco had told both of them that in the event that they were caught, they would say that they had been warned they would die, not be punished, which was true, but the area had been specified as 'out of bounds' in the same breath as the Forbidden Forest. As a result, with no precedent for punishment, Goyle would have detention in the dungeons under Professor Snape, who would ensure he was doing work. Not seeming to understand cause and effect, Crabbe was eager to fill in full time. They had not learned much without being able to go in, but there were unlocking charms he could have them practice. He had put them on a strictly combative regimen thus far, but there were simple spells they would be unlikely to screw up in the worst of circumstances. As it happened, unlocking was part of the Charms curriculum, but locking was Defense, which puzzled him. _I suppose you could lock a door on a pursuer, but isn't it a useful charm in general?_

Going down to the dungeons, irritable for lack of supper and no lack of punishment, it occurred to him that he had few friends available apart from Crabbe and Neville, so no friends cleverer than himself. _Well, that's a forgone conclusion. At the same time, I would do well to ally myself with some of the older Slytherins._ Over the past month, it had not been for lack of trying, but it seemed the other students continued to treat him with a polite reservation. _Should have something to do with the exchange I caused with Goyle- there's no way Dumbledore believes it was his idea, the last time Gregory Goyle had an idea, he switched the starting letters of his name to disguise it._ The Slytherin dungeon was dark, the green of the underwater gloom invisible at night. Taking to a high-backed chair, he bit into a licorice wand from his robes. _I've shown my hand too early. I must recess back into the shadows as I determine my next move._

The following day, his fellow Slytherins regarded him with less of a polite reservation, and more of an ignorant disinterest. It was not an improvement, but Draco reminded himself he should expect ups and downs. No man could be regarded well by all, and certainly not all the time. At breakfast with Longbottom, he wondered if he was sitting next to the cause of it. _We've always hated Gryffindors, but we respect them more than mice. With Hufflepuffs, that's not quite the case._ He had hoped the boy's pure status would make their working relationship 'controversial' rather than 'disgraceful'. _Of course, it was supposed to be a secret- yet here I am with his idiot friends._

It was perfectly clear to him why they stayed with Neville- they were guilt-ridden and indecisive. They should have severed ties with him and moved on after insulting him, but instead they showed weakness by apologizing, perhaps holding out hope they could be friends again. It was beyond all doubt that Longbottom would see through it- with a little help, here and there.

"Noticed you didn't stick around," Weasley muttered to Granger after a silence.

"There was nothing to be gained and you know it. You're only bitter because you couldn't get out of it," she huffed. "What do you have to do, anyway?"

"I have to help Hagrid with some lunacy in the Forbidden Forest. Apparently they were looking for someone to fill that punishment. My luck and all that- least I'm not Malfoy." he answered, going on a bit. "Say, Neville, how'd you make out?"

"I don't know, Ron, I think I just clammed up. I might have made it all the way to the dorm and back here in the morning without saying a word." He glanced at his foolish trinket. "Yeah, I just kept mum." _No one assumed anything because you didn't say anything._

Draco thought for a moment and decided he should really be glad to be able to associate with _anyone_ at lunch. Confined to indefinite detention as he was, he could expect hours of assignments immediately as classes ended. _At least I'll get ahead academically- no, Goyle will be there, like as not I'll be respiring mouth-breather air. I need a plan._


	10. The Forest and the Fang

Ron Weasley did his work as always, practicing his spellwork and contemplating what went wrong. _He had Neville, that's what it was. I expected some dunce like his usual servants. We'd have had him crying for mummy in a heartbeat if it weren't for Neville and that plant._ As of yet, though, there was nothing to be done about the Hufflepuff. He knew perfectly well that he and Hermione had insulted the boy, and the only accidental part of it was revealing it. As he worked on his extensive writing for Charms, he began to think they could have bluffed out of it had she not gone and confessed.

" _Alohamora,"_ he said simply, pointing at the door to the classroom where he was currently locked. _No, Hermione did the right thing. I'm being a bad friend._ His thoughts turned to Malfoy. He had been unable to either get revenge or redeem himself, as it was the girl who challenged him, Ron was simply taken along for the ride. It might have been different had they won the duel, he might have won back some small amount of favor, but if anyone had even heard they were dueling, they heard he and Hermione lost. Of course, no one seemed to remember it was really Neville who won it. _At least Malfoy has it worse, far as I can tell. He's not being allowed out of the castle- probably they reckon he can't be responsible for his own safety._

He returned to his writing. _The essence of a charm is that it is a spell with a defined use._ Ron snorted at the thought that color changing spells had a use, but continued reading. _A charm can be used quickly if necessary, but only with practice, as is true for any spell. Careful attention is the price of a properly executed charm; the movement, the incantation, and the intent are functional aspects to the completion of the form._ He thought about it, wondering what kind of charm he would use on Malfoy at the next opportunity. _Has to be something he wouldn't see coming- starting to sound like charms aren't so quick as jinxes._ He began to take a liking to the slug-belching one, though it seemed something like that would be easy to trace back to him.

As he went out to the castle doors, it occurred to him that he had taken little enough opportunity to explore the grounds. _Doesn't help that I've been in detention since Merlin remembers._ Argus Filch, the school caretaker, had apparently volunteered to take him outside into the cold night. The squib was exceedingly excited to be administering punishment, especially since it was one where the student was risking life and limb.

"I 'ear this is the only reason you 'aven't been expelled, boy. Well good for you. In my day, we'd a already 'ad you strung up by the ankles." Ron knew better than to respond, though it was hardly because he did not desire to. He knew his brothers tormented the man to no end, and his parents had instructed him not to mock him for being a squib. Arthur and Molly Weasley were happy that Filch found meaningful employment at Hogwarts, and interpreted this as a transparently noble attempt to integrate squibs into the everyday life of wizards. Ron opined, silently, that they should have picked one who wasn't a git and his parents might have been Hufflepuffs if they had wanted.

On the grounds, Hagrid simply ignored Filch's comments and led Ron into the Forbidden Forest with a crossbow and a dog he identified as Fang.

"Causin' trouble again, Weasley?"

"I wasn't the direct cause this time." They heard what sounded like an owl, which surprised Ron, considering he had expected nothing other than the most dangerous of animals. _What's a sane creature doing here?_

"A course ye weren't. Just like yer brothers." The boy's face grew red, though not nearly so red as to match his hair. "Don't be like Fred and George. Brilliant gits, prob'bly get into a real fight one day and die- worse yet, one a ther experiments'll do 'em in." They could only see by the light of what appeared to be a Muggle lantern; he remembered his father had at one point found it difficult to distinguish between 'lanterns' and 'lecterns', which had been annoying, but not embarrassing like some of the others. According to the twins, their father was really better off listening to Muggle radio, but it was too much fun watching him to disabuse him. "A 'course, it's better ye don't end up like Percy, either. Ye know fer like three years he insisted on bein' called 'Percival'? Boy's no knight." The dog barked and Hagrid stopped talking.

"What is it?"

"Fang thinks he smells a dead unicorn. 'Course, might be a rabbit again." They walked into a clearing where they discovered exactly what Ron might have expected.

"What kind of creature d'you reckon can chase down a unicorn?" He knew little about the animals except that they were fast.

"Dragon, maybe, but there'd be fire everywhere," the groundskeeper responded. "We're not looking fer something fast, we're looking fer something smart." It occurred to Ron that beneath the whimsical personality and oafish appearance, there might very well be a brilliant mind. "Say, there's an idea. Be like Charlie. I liked Charlie. Knew his beasts, that boy."

"What's something smart?" he asked, returning to the subject.

"Wizard. Plenty 'o creative creatures out there, but how many of 'em know you can only find unicorns here? Protected species. Prob'bly have ter go ter northern Greece outside Britain. Killing curse and a flesh-render ter make it look like a creature did it. Gimme a light spell."

" _Lumos._ Well, why'd he just leave it here?" Ron asked as his wand ignited with a silver light.

"Only needed the blood- it's dead useful, but only if it's fresh. Most folk don't know what it does. Better fer the beasts, I say." He paused for a moment, visibly thinking. "Truth is, it'll save ye from the brink 'o death."

"Well-"

"Ye'll be cursed. Ain't worth it. Ye were thinkin' o' that Gryffindor boy? One who got brained with a rock?" The image of Dean Thomas was still fresh in his mind. As the unconscious body was loaded onto a magical stretcher, it was clear to anyone with eyes that he had minimal time left. McGonagall left to notify the boy's mother. The following morning as he related what had happened during Charms, Hermione jabbed Ron in the ribs and told him not to say it. He was still working out what exactly it was that he was supposed to not say.

"Kinda. D'you reckon it would work?"

"Work? He could be dead and walk again- but don't get any ideas. Ain't yer fault what happened, ye should be lookin' inter who put the troll inter the castle. Couldn't a gotten in on its own, I know the beasts."

"D'you suppose it could be the same person? Someone who knows magical creatures?" Ron clammed up immediately after suggesting the idea, no desire present to incriminate the man before him. Though he never seemed to use a wand, there was no doubt he could tear through a first-year without even trying. Unexpectedly, Hagrid smiled.

"Got some stones on ye, boy. I got alibis for both times, just so ye know. I know ye prob'bly suspected me. Slytherin. Wand snapped. Went to Azkaban. I tell ye, though, boy, and this is important. Wasn't a wizard who went bad that wasn't in Slytherin- but that don't mean there wasn't a Slytherin who didn't go bad." Ron nodded, unsure of how else to respond. "See, way we're talkin' about it, we said wizard at least three times. Couldn't it a been a witch? Saw a few witches in prison- but only a few. Wizards commit almost every crime that takes place- but you wouldn't hurt a flobberworm, not really. Almost all wizards commit no crimes. Funny, ain't it?"

They scanned the clearing in silence. Ron suspected he should be looking for some sort of clue, but the broken beauty of the unicorn distracted him. In his own wand there was a single hair from a unicorn, which conducted the magical charge from his body like a Muggle lighting rod.

"It was a dark wizard. No one else could have done this," he decided, lifting the body with a levitation charm to see if there was anything beneath it.

"Prob'bly. Trouble is, we don't have a damn clue who it was. Death Eater chain o' command is a mystery- we don't know where You Know Who is." All of a sudden, the grounds man stopped dead. "I should not have told you that."

"He's not dead?" Ron asked, beginning to panic. "Everyone always said he was dead!"

"Cahm down, boy, he's nowhere near. If he's not dead, he's near enough- biding his time. No one's seen him in ten years. Only Dumbledore 'n a few 'o his friends know about it." Ron still failed to see how it was possible. "Most folks are better off not knowin', he says."

"How is he alive?" As the clearing was bereft of evidence, they started out of the forest. "Wasn't there a body?" He had heard the details from his brothers, as his parents refused to tell him.

"Don't mean anythin' with that strong a wizard. Paranoid too, Dumbledore was always on about how he was afraid o' dyin' and all."

The detention concluded quietly after Hagrid got the three of them past the centaurs. Whoever killed the unicorn was no one Fang had met before, and Hagrid intentionally passed him by all Hogwarts students in their first year. Finding an excuse with the faculty was more difficult, especially with the ones who did not care for dogs. During the explanation, Ron imagined it was inconvenient that they had a new teacher for Defense Against the Dark Arts every year.

"D'you reckon it could have been Quirrell?" he asked, thinking about his encounter.

"Wizard's clean as a whistle. 'Sides, Fang woulda barked if he picked up his scent out here." Hagrid responded. "Lived a quiet life o' research afore comin' here. 'Course, there's such a thing as too clean- and too quiet." He paused as they headed to the hut. "Don't worry yerself about it, Weasley. Not yer responsibility. Whatever's killin' these unicorns is mine. Whoever's puttin' trolls inter the castle is Dumbledore's. Feel sorry fer him already."

"What did Dumbledore do that made people afraid of him?" Ron asked, guessing he was about to be sent back to the castle.

"It's a lotta things. He's not afraid o' anyone, wizard, beast- I met over fifty men he sent ter Azkaban. Gave me something ter smile about- me old Transfiguration teacher who always stood up fer me, sending dark wizards straight ter where they belong. Didn't give a damn about the Dementors; they shook at the thought o' Dumbledore. Rosier was happy ter have a life sentence- he was afraid o' leavin'."

That night his dreams were dark and he decided he would find Hermione.

At breakfast he found her sitting next to Anthony Goldstein and he went ahead and forbade himself from making jokes. As he sat down and started to eat, Seamus found him and joined them.

"I thought you two weren't on speaking terms," Hermione started.

"That's true, come to think of it," the other Ravenclaw continued. "Your credit with the other Gryffindors was shot." The witch visibly glowered at Ron, but he pretended not to notice.

"We don't hold grudges," Seamus explained simply.

"The Gryffindors-"

"No, _we_ don't hold grudges," he specified, cutting Hermione off. "I'm no Briton." The witch buried her face in her hands, looking like she was trying to do some sort of internal scream. "Anyway, what did you see in the Forest?" he asked Ron.

"That was what I was about to bring up." As he spoke, Anthony Goldstein and Seamus listened intently, though he left out the part about the properties of the unicorn blood, as Hagrid had said they were 'in dangered' or something. The Ravenclaw girl might have been listening, but her face was concealed and she made no comment. "Whatever happened to Dean?" he asked, not having been able to find out between detentions.

"They say he never died, but I don't believe it," Seamus responded. "I saw him- right there with me own eyes. They took him up to the hospital wing all lifeless- Snape gave him a potion on the way there." It was a detail that caught Hermione's attention, and for that Ron was grateful. "We haven't been allowed to see him since."

He asked her what she had put together in Charms class.

"Well, it might be nothing, but that boy, Dean, was hit in the head with a piece of masonry. Either he was dead or he wasn't dead. Had he been dead, there's _really_ no potion Professor Snape could have been carrying that would have brought him back-"

"Unicorn blood," Ron said, interrupting as he cast a color change charm, annoyed, though distracted by an odd warmth from his wand. "That explains that, I suppose." Hermione was visibly putting together his muttered response as she performed the charm correctly, turning a piece of parchment blue, then bronze.

"I suppose they could have removed all mentions of its curative properties from the library. Unicorns are endangered, after all."

"Oh, like even you've read enough of the library to know they don't have it," he scoffed, remembering she had no particular interest in magical creatures. The witch glowered before beginning again.

"Either way, we don't know that Professor Snape obtained the blood himself, or if it was provided for him," she continued.

"Come off it, Hermione, you've seen him." Ron started back as they left class together. "There's no way he's not a dark wizard."

"Ron, he's a teacher," she said as they rounded the corner. He realized he had never told her all of what happened with the midnight duel, where he ran into Quirrell, but decided it would have to wait for another time as she went off to her next class. Sooner or later, something would happen that would sour her idea of teachers as his had been soured. He had appreciated the Defense teacher not reporting his behavior, as he might be expelled by this point if it had been reported, but there was no way the correct response to a student being out of bed was to send him back with a portkey and make no mention of it. _Snape's evil, but Quirrell is up to something. Trouble is, I can't prove it and no one's really going to believe me._

In class he was distracted, but managed not to scald himself in Potions, brewing a mild sleeping potion while eyeing the instructor, as though he hoped to gain relevant information just by watching him. Unfortunately, he lacked an extra container for the sleeping potion or he would have taken it with him. As was the custom in the Weasley family, he borrowed George's set of glass phials for the first day of class, then proceeded to not use them after passing the requirement.

Later, he saw Neville flying around on a broom outside, wondering how bitter cold it was up there from the confines of a window as he took notes listlessly. He had to do well, he knew that. All of his brothers before him were succeeding, it would simply be unacceptable for him not to do at least as well as they did. The way everyone he met seemed to want to compare him to his brothers discouraged and annoyed him, but they would continue to do that whether or not he liked it. _All I can do is make sure I come out on top. If I try I can at least beat Percy. Not financially, but I'll be cooler._

Going to his mandated detention after classes were over, he was almost glad not to have run of the castle. He had not explored even nearly all of it, not even close, but there had to be a dark wizard somewhere in the castle and it was better not to run into him. He hated the idea of letting Dean's killer go unpunished, whether or not the boy stayed dead, but at the same time he felt like a rat in a trap. There was so little he could do, especially against an adult wizard, and he was already skating on the thinnest ice he could imagine- being expelled was better than dying, but it would represent his total failure to even approach the success of his brothers.

Somewhere in Gryffindor tower, he expected Scabbers was sniffing around for crumbs again. He had been placed there for a tendency to wander more than most rats, especially rats of his age. What he was trying to accomplish, Ron had no idea, but he seemed intent on always scurrying about.

"Really feel for you, Scabbers," he started, noting that there was no one around to hear him. "Might be I'll let you run around the grounds if I ever get out of this trap. Wouldn't mind it myself." His thoughts drifted to the unicorn before nodding off.


	11. The Lonely Lookout

For the first time, Hermione knew more than she was letting on.

Of course, there was too little to go to Professor Flitwick, but from what she had seen in the hallways, the Inspectors were out in full force. From the Deputy Headmistress, she learned that the Ministry appointees would of course be held responsible for their actions, and the Transfiguration teacher went on to inquire as to why she would think otherwise.

"Well, it's just that I haven't been in the wizarding world very long, but from what I have seen it appears to be spectacularly easy to get away with things. Wands-"

"-can be tracked, as can magic. I would recommend not taking devious purposes into account during the course of your magical education, Miss Granger. Magical Law Enforcement has as many ways of finding the truth as there are of concealing it. Your wand, for example, can be inspected for its most recent spells. May I?"

"O-of course, Professor," the Ravenclaw responded, drawing her wand from her schoolbag.

" _Prior Incantato,"_ the older witch cast, touching her own wand to the tip of Hermione's wand of vine and dragon heartstring. She remembered telling Neville the composition as a matter of interest, as his seemed to not be working for him. He insisted it was probably his own ineptitude and not his father's wand that made him a poor caster of spells, but she told him it was better that he look into it. She had never been terribly interested in wandlore herself, and she was a little doubtful about the way Olivander went on about the 'wand choosing the witch' as if they were sentient. At the same time, he likely knew significantly more about the subject than she did and it was likely a wand that 'fit' his father would not work well for the younger Longbottom.

Out of the tip of her wand came a gray, shadowed image of what appeared to be a knockback jinx in flight, which made McGonagall raise an eyebrow.

"I was practicing," Hermione said dutifully. "I need to stay sharp, see." She wondered how invisible spells would look if the same process were used, but there was something off and she decided not to ask. Earlier, Draco had been moaning about how unfair the Deputy Headmistress had been toward him, and though she was notable for being especially strict, the punishment _was_ somewhat extreme for a first-year with a clean record except for being out of bed once. _Of course, he was probably making it worse for himself by being indignant._

She scanned the hallways between classes, looking for the witch who had seemed to be following her before. _Of course, if she's an Inspector, she's probably already disguised herself again. Professor Dumbledore did say that they could impersonate students and staff._ As she looked around through a thin crowd of assorted students, Hermione realized she had no idea who or what she was trying to find- or even whether or not the 'Ministry appointees' were responsible. _Just because they're here doesn't mean they let the troll in- anyone else would probably see this as a perfect opportunity, knowing the Inspectors would be blamed first._

After classes were over she found an equally frustrated Weasley at lunch, seated with Neville and one of his Hufflepuff friends. They appeared to be having a conflict about Quidditch, of all things.

"It's not a matter of who's got the best broom, Ron-"

"It makes a difference, Macmillan, just look at the school brooms against a Nimbus or even an old Silver Arrow."

"Ron, I met with Professor McGonagall today."

"I'm sure your marks are fine, Hermione," the redhead wizard said as he momentarily turned. "Oh, and I have to tell you about that night." It took only a moment for her to puzzle out which night it was, as she had heard about the unicorns.

"Fine. You first," she presented simply. Neville's friend seemed interested as he related what actually happened the night of the duel that never was. She interrupted him to point out that the Defense professor was not following decorum, though he insisted that was clear enough once he had gone back and thought about it. "Why did you never tell anyone this?" she asked at length.

"I was lucky Quirrell didn't report it- I reckon I'd be expelled by now if he had. Really, though, no one would have believed me." It was an idea worth considering. After being derided for avoiding a duel he started, she would expect him to come up with some excuse. Despite having one, he elected not to use it, most likely having decided that everyone else would also figure him for making excuses.

"And you're certain it was Professor Quirrell and not an Inspector?" she asked, noting Ron's visible consideration. "I may have run into one before they were announced, though I can't be sure."

"No, I reckon it could have been someone else. There was something off about him. Can't remember what it was."

"How can you ever be certain?" she asked, her frustration mounting. "I've been looking through some books- I could be talking to you right now, or I could be talking to someone else with a Polyjuice potion, or I could be talking to a Metamorphamagus, or you could be mind-controlled, or this whole conversation could have been a False Memory! How do you _know_ anything?!" Hermione asked, hoping there was some light to be shed on the subject. _That's assuming I'm not tied up in a basement somewhere with a screen in front of me and I've been Confunded so as not to think about it._

"Hogwarts has wards that warn us about dark magic, but it's not discussed. I reckon Dumbledore figures it's better to catch the git that did it rather than have it happen off the grounds. Polyjuice potions are hard to make, but there are disguise spells that work well. I'm pretty sure those things are rare. My dad has to use Memory Charms all the time and he says they work best on Muggles, especially when you're fine tuning." Ron answered, trying his best to respond in the order the question had gone. "Really, though, I suppose anything could be possible. When I was five I wondered if I were just some character in someone else's dream."

"Did you really?" Neville asked suddenly. "I once thought the same thing!" He looked around, as if expecting to see someone. "Maybe we really are characters in the same person's dream." For some reason the concept seemed to excite him.

Hermione decided she understood Ron's point, but it did not need to be carried any farther.

"Either way, we have to have some way of knowing we're not impostors," she said, cutting off Neville's sudden wild fantasy. "We'll meet in your scheduled detention- I'll ask you questions from the train, then we decide on a code word. Neville, you might as well join us and do the same with Draco." The Hufflepuff responded with a confused expression. "Silver." The matter was cleared up.

That evening she had a fair amount of practicing to do. She was ahead in most things, but she could be more confident in her magical skill if she routinely worked on it. As it was, her spellwork seemed only average.

"You need to concentrate," Cho Chang explained in Ravenclaw Tower's common room, a coffee table with a blue and bronze cloth. "Consider this to be your mind." There was a Delftware cup of Oolong tea between them on the table, resting on a saucer that she remembered depicted a bird in flight. The other witch lifted a teapot and began to pour, even though it was already full.

"Stop-" Hermione pleaded, trying to interrupt her.

"You cannot fill a full cup. Your mind was already full prior to coming here." The porcelain cup was running over, and she made a mental note to ask Ron if wizarding families knew any housekeeping spells, as Neville had likely forgotten them. "You have ways of understanding things that conflict with magic."

"No, stop, I've seen Muggle kung fu movies-"

"And that is the problem. You have a culture, a heritage, and in your new home; the new reality is difficult to accept. You must become one with the new." Hermione contained her frustrated scream and sat on her own hands to keep from making any sort of gesture with them. "Even now you find it difficult to accept the way things are. I can see it, though you try to conceal it."

The idea gave Hermione pause.

She would continue to hold out hope that _every single stereotype she had ever learned_ was untrue, but the idea that accepting the nature of magic was what was holding her back was a potentially legitimate point. As a student, she had always been adaptable, but levitating objects was the kind of development that would leave a voice in the back of her mind insisting that it was impossible.

"Thank you, Cho. I shall do my best to... empty my cup."

Looking through her books that night, she saw nothing relating to an invisibility potion, meaning it was impossible or simply not in the first-year curriculum. Either way, she would have to check the library soon as she would not be allowed to bring the school's books home over Christmas holiday, nor would she be able to practice magic. Her parents had received information about where she would be going to school the following year, what the wizarding world was, and why their child would be very much in danger if they chose to reveal any of it. It was a low blow, explaining the Statute of Secrecy in such a threatening manner, but she knew that they could hardly afford to take chances.

 _Of course, I could always elect not to go home._

The Grangers knew well enough that she was inclined to study as much as possible, but in years past she had always found time to come home and relax for Christmas with family. In truth, she was more than caught up on her work and expected all she would do was some light reading over the holiday. Hermione knew she could invent an absurd amount of homework for the average twelve year old, but that would mean lying outright. She would be saying something she knew to be untrue, and that was irreconcilable. Her parents had told her never to lie to them, no matter the reason.

 _And the actual reason would have them demanding I go straight home._

Though there was little that would count as evidence in the blind eyes of any court, Hermione had seen enough. There was evil at Hogwarts; there was no other word for it. Dean Thomas dying might have been an accident, but the troll's presence was intentional. The students had been informed that the Inspectors were only there for their benefit, but even if it were so, their proclivity to disguise themselves gave every other dark wizard a perfect smokescreen. Professor Snape's use of unicorn blood to save a student was a questionable one, especially without revealing what he had done, and more so that he simply happened to have it at the time. From Ron's story, the Forest's unicorns had been killed before, though perhaps it expired.

She wrote a short letter, settling on a half-lie.

 _Mother and Father,_

 _I hope this letter finds you well, as I have decided to remain at Hogwarts during Christmas holiday. As much as I want to return home, there are many things I need to learn here and if I do not respond to your next letter, my tasks have consumed me. Please remember that I love you and I really hope to see you when we are released for Easter holiday._

 _Love, Hermione._

In previous letters she had told her parents of her classes, magic in general, and two boys with nasty tempers. It was unlikely they would be surprised by that development. Previously, she had not been a social butterfly by any stretch of the imagination, preferring the company of books to living people, and when she tried to get along with others, it turned out that they preferred her reading quietly in the library to being in their company. Hermione had heard that it was bad for her to grow up alone, but Faulkner and Hemingway never seemed to mind her bushy hair and overlarge teeth. If anything, she was happy when Bathilda Bagshot joined the tea party, but she had never expected she would find fondness for anyone born in the twentieth century. The extreme was with Draco, whom she had decided to ignore the second day of school, but after the incident with the troll, they had to be on the same side, differences or no.

Hermione took the letter to the Owlry. _I can't just keep thinking about it._

Patrolling the grounds by herself would accomplish little, and likely reveal that she knew something was going on. She could think of little else but going to the library for books on invisibility potions, so she could at least do it without being noticed, and possibly recruit Ron and Neville. _Draco's still a variable. He doesn't want to be on the same side as Ron, but he must know that's the way it is._ Taking an upper level book on potions over to a table, Hermione poured over it, looking for anything resembling invisibility in the table of contents. As it turned out, there were more than enough solutions of that description, but not only were the ingredients unrecognizable, the directions took the form of a narrative that seemed to assume you knew everything about what you needed to do. The ingredients seemed to be classified into 'decantalyzers' and 'catalysts' and 'dissolutionizers', probably based on function rather than what kind of thing you were throwing in there. She knew what catalysts were, sort of, at least in science experiments, but the function was most likely different in apothecary.

It pained her to search for an easier book, possibly one meant for third-year students, but she reminded herself that if she made a potion the wrong way and drank it, she could die. _A simpler potion would be better for many reasons, one being the ingredients._ Finding a particular brew in a mid-level book called 'The Draught of Darkness', she decided she could manage it between the ingredients and the instructions. Her parents were always encouraging her to be more confident and not 'limit herself', but given the choice she would sooner sell herself short than overestimate her abilities when her life was on the line.

The encounter with the Inspector, dark witch, or whoever it was had unnerved her, but as of yet there was no reason to assume she was being followed seriously, because there was no way of connecting her with anyone who knew anything about what was going on with the troll. She had been there at the time, but so was most of Gryffindor House, all of whom were more likely targets than a disappearing Ravenclaw. _They're the ones who are going to be bull-headedly casting around suspicions and naming names to get to the bottom of this- Oh, what am I saying, I'm sure they're not all like that, but the Sorting Hat had to put them somewhere._

Collecting what instructions she needed for the potion, she copied them carefully and resolved to explain them to Ron in his mandatory detention, when there was serious doubt that it could be anyone other than himself.

The following day was mundane until Defense class.

Professor Quirrell had decided to complete their earlier lesson by pairing them again and reversing the tasks. Hermione would be running from Draco, with the same multiplier applied to produce a minute's head start for her, as opposed to thirty seconds. Determined not to be hit by some 'poorly timed' knockback jinx that would send her over the edge of a banister, she avoided the stairwell, heading to other parts of the third floor instead. _Draco can't afford another infraction, but I've got a clean record. The best part is, our instructor isn't-_

She nearly stopped dead in her tracks as she passed by the Defense Against the Dark Arts professor directly in front of her. Managing a neutral expression, she pushed herself harder to get past him, as if by keeping from breaking her stride she could convince him it was a coincidence she had chosen the Third Floor Corridor to escape her pursuer. She felt a stinging hex from Draco as she sprinted, and as she turned the next corner she realized that if there would be an exception for her, there would be an exception for him, however close he was to more serious punishment than indefinite detention.

Realizing she could hardly maintain her current pace, she resolved to duck into one of the castle's many identical broom closets. _What's the point if you can't use brooms inside?_ The thought cost her a moment's concentration as she rounded a corner. A tripping jinx sent her painfully tumbling and Draco caught up in moments, however ragged he had run himself.

"Draco-" she breathed, breathlessly rolling over onto her back. "The Inspectors- may have been responsible for- the troll. I don't know." His expression shifted and he checked to see if there were anyone around. "So you'll know it's really- I'm not some impostor- the word will be- momentum." An irked gleam in his eye indicated he picked up the reference to the spell she used to catch him out on the stair. She noticed her nose was bleeding. _I need to learn a healing spell..._

"Very well. Yours will be bloody."


	12. Hexed in Herbology

Neville had been confused about what Hermione had wanted for him and Silver, but he never let it bother him. Checking his Remembrall, he decided he had forgotten to go to class entirely and would do well to be on his way. He sat down in History of Magic, noting that Professor Binns had already started, possibly around five minutes early. He could not remember if the classes had ever been earlier and the instructor was just showing up and starting at the usual time, or if it had been for some other reason entirely.

Either way, he set himself to his notes, knowing that he would recall none of what had been said five minutes after he left the room. It was tedious busywork, but he was happy he was at least understanding it. His grandmother had informed him that History of Magic would be his worst subject beyond a shadow of a doubt, though he was better off with something other than Charms when he got the choice. He noticed the instructor was droning on about something that was already covered, the previous day, for that matter, and he took the mysterious book from his bag. As per Silver's recommendation, he had begun to read it, but it was an upper-level or possibly even graduate text and the only way it made any sense was by starting from the beginning and reading through. As a result, combing it for bits of information that would interest his friend was nearly impossible.

Already he had a nearly insurmountable deficit in interesting stories to where he suspected Slytherins were simply as naturally adept as they claimed in controlling all the gossip in the school. Spotted on the Astronomy Tower, there was a secret pickup on broomsticks at the dead of night, not eleven days ago an acquaintance of an acquaintance caught Professor Binns on an empty corridor repeating the same madman's talk every time he reappeared at the other end of the corridor, and there was a famous Malfoy relative at Beauxbaton's who could travel between the land of the living and that of the dead.

The book was dense, and mostly about soil as it related to magical plants, but as far as he could understand it was interesting to him, though not to Silver. He expected it would help some in Herbology, but there was no way to know for sure.

Ron was in an argument with his other friend at lunch. _I guess it's a good thing they're talking to each other._

"We know we're poor, Malfoy, what's your point? What do you even do?"

"Do? The nobility require no profession, we do as we please. Should I desire to take up professional Quidditch, my father would simply make the arrangements. You will do only what you can, Weasley, and that's not much, now is it?"

"My brothers are in Egypt and Romania with some of the most exciting careers- you couldn't play Quidditch, you'd be too busy looking at yourself in the mirror. You're like the bad man in a book Ginny would read." Neville guessed he was referring to the series by Cassiopeia something. From having the Weasleys over every now and then, he remembered the little witch always having her nose in one of those books. According to Hannah Abbott, they were light romance novels with a quaint setting and classic characters who dealt with the requisite challenges of high society. According to his grandmother, they were rubbish.

Silver was unamused by the comparison, but responded in kind.

"Truly? I imagine you see yourself to be the hero- too poor to provide, but with the redeeming charm of a court fool." Neville was surprised. He knew Ron and his friend were no friends of each other, but this level of cruelty was unexpected. "Or perhaps you are only the hero's friend- and you end up with the heroine's friend, the one with the bushy hair and beaver's maw." Ron was red with rage, but he did not but raise his voice.

"You're a worm, Malfoy," he growled, keeping his voice below what others could hear. _I guess there are worse things than the two of them not talking to each other._ "If you were a proper snake, you'd have friends in high places. The Slytherins won't even look at you."

All at once Neville realized what they were doing- both of them were one offense away from being expelled.

"Stop- provoking each other..." he started. "You both might get tossed out, you don't know for sure!"

"I'm not afraid," Ron challenged.

"It's a calculated risk I'm willing to take," Silver answered.

"Wait! Wait- why don't you have a contest?" Neville asked. "You've already dueled- why not something that's not against any rules?" _I don't want either of you to be expelled._

"Not really a test of Weasley's all important _courage_ if there's no risk involved, is it? What would you have us do? Race to the end of the hall?"

"No," Ron interrupted. " 's a great idea. We're going after whoever was behind the bloody troll. Something tells me the secret's in the Third Floor Corridor. We race to find out- if you dare." It was possible the Gryffindor had been considering this for a long time; it was possible he just thought it up on the spot. Either way, Neville was no less scared.

"Wait a tick, that's still against the rules!" he objected in futility. It appeared, however, that they had already decided and nothing at all would change their minds.

Resigning himself to the inevitable as he went on with classes, his thoughts drifted to Ernie, who would probably assume the unhappy title of his only friend, as Hermione would probably get roped into their plans and expelled all the same. _I've got to prepare. I'm not good at remembering things, so I've got to be ready for anything. I need more Shrinking Solution for the Devil's Snare._ The potion Ron had given him had been enough for two uses- shrinking the plant once, then keeping it down at size after putting the central bulb into a potion bottle Silver had given him. _And the only thing I've been able to do for him recently is tell him about a few of the older Hufflepuffs._

He had not known what he was seeing when he first caught them talking, but it became clearer that they were forming a secret society of some sort. His Slytherin friend had pretended to be especially interested to hear the news. _Even if he doesn't get expelled, he's going to find a new friend._ Hermione pulled him aside in a corridor, appearing out of nowhere.

"Hermione, what? Where did you-" he began as she pulled him into a broom closet.

"There's no time, Neville. Any moment you could run into an Inspector pretending to be myself."

"Well-"

"Neville. From now on, to prove it's the real you, your word is 'heartstring'. Our wands have the same core." Checking his Remembrall, which was as red as it had ever been, he realized he must have forgotten telling her the core of his father's wand.

"Wait, what do you tell me?"

"Vine. It's the wood for mine," she said as she opened the door. "Now go, you don't want to be late for class."

Disobeying did not but cross his mind.

In Herbology, he elected not to tell Hannah anything specific about whatever it was Hermione was investigating. If his grandmother were with him, she would tell him that if his father were with him, he would tell him not to worry her. Neville had little doubt that he would forget most of the important details, and his Remembrall could only help him so much. She would be more worried than he would be faced with a History of Magic test.

"Neville, tell me what's going on," she muttered as they were pruning a Bubotuber. "Neville, I can see something's going on. You're holding your breath because you're worried you might tell me something."

He tried to say he was not holding his breath without opening his mouth, but it went less than well.

"Neville, you're turning blue," she said as she narrowly avoided cutting a whole branch off.

"Hannah, I can't tell you. I don't remember." He held out his favorite magical trinket to prove it.

"That doesn't mean you forgot what you don't want to tell me," the girl said after thinking for a moment. Professor Sprout hushed them. "Now tell me what it is," she demanded as she hit him in the foot with a stinging hex below the table. _What is with the witches today? Merlin!_

"No! I refuse to tell you!" He had never before used a loud whisper to communicate and was presently unsure he was doing it properly. She hit him with the hex as promised, which smarted right proper.

Hannah tried a few more times, but he held out, earning quite a few stinging hexes, which he continued to feel even as classes ended and he reclined in the Hufflepuff basement, staring at the ceiling. It had occurred to him that his friends wanted to do something about what was going on, but he was not brave like they were, or perhaps paranoid, in Hermione's case. As much as he felt for the boy's classmates, he was not vengeful over the untimely death of Dean Thomas, at least not as vengeful as Silver was about the troll incident. It bothered him, but he was willing to let it go as long as nothing happened to his friends. _I guess I could just have been born wrong, like Gran says._

He joined Silver during one of his unsupervised detentions. Neville knew there was no requirement for him to be there, and truly it would be best if he were not, considering the Slytherin was supposed to be solitary as part of his punishment, but he could hardly see the harm in it. Besides, if his friends were all going mad, the least he could do was be there for them.

"Why does no one ever watch you in here?" he asked, thinking about it.

"What am I going to do, Neville? Besides, there's hardly enough teachers to watch every student in solitary detention." Neville chose not to mention that as far as he knew, Silver and Ron Weasley were the only students with more than enough detentions to last the rest of the year. He was not aware how he remembered it, and would have to do better in the future. "Have you heard of any conspiracies between the teachers? Between this and the amount of homework I have received, I'd say there's more than sufficient evidence for an investigation."

"Well, about the teachers- there may be a reason we can't trust them- well, they might be one of those..."

"Inspectors."

"Right, well, Hermione thinks we should have a word so I know it's you."

"Granger? Yes, I've had words with the witch, though really she's the wrong sort. Tell me, how do I know it's you right now?" Silver asked. The question flustered him and he tried to get his Remembrall out of his pocket, but his friend only made an amused expression and continued. "I'm merely having a bit of fun, Neville. Someone trying to trick me would have come with something prepared. Tell you what, I'll use 'fun' in a sentence to remind myself of the other bit of fun I had when we first met."

"I'll try and remember it."

"Don't worry. That trinket you have will reveal that you forgot it, not that you never heard it."

"Good thinking, Silver." They rose from their seats, and Neville resolved to follow him as far as he could to Slytherin Dungeon. "Also, there's something wrong with Hannah."

"More Hufflepuff news?"

"Not exactly- it might not have to do with the secret society. Well, it probably doesn't. She was just acting weird."

"She's a witch, Neville."

"She hexed me- maybe eleven times! All because I wouldn't answer her questions." Silver seemed to take notice of it. "She might be someone else in disguise."

"That, or she might be imperiused, but she seems too spirited from what you're saying. Father was listless- going through the motions." They were nearing the dungeons. "Never mind, that, though. Did she look any different?"

"She might have. I don't remember. I can't say well enough what she looked like before to know how it might be any different."

"Quite alright. Just find her again tomorrow and see if she remembers anything," Silver said as he took a turn, leaving.

"Good thinking." _But how can I know if she's not the same impostor?_

Neville walked off, wondering how he could possibly escape his predicament. It seemed even if he did have friends, there was still a chance they were impostors. _What if everyone's an Inspector?_ He dismissed the mad thought at length, deciding there was no way the Ministry even had that many, and would have better things to do with them than devote their attentions to watching him, of all people. _I don't think there's a soul who thinks I'm a dark wizard. They're supposed to be smart, or at least competent. Even if I were a dark wizard, I'd still be harmless._ Neville couldn't even be moved to care about what was behind the door on the Third Floor Corridor; he knew it was important, but simply couldn't imagine what it had to do with him. He had every expectation his grandmother would criticize him for lack of courage if he went the whole year without looking into it, but it would be worse if he let it distract him from his studies.

His reading of the mysterious book made him wonder about the soil content in the Forbidden Forest, and whether or not that was making the trees magical, or at least more attractive to magical creatures. Ernie said he knew someone who knew someone who said Ollivander could be seen sometimes.

"So it's not just any wood," Neville supposed over his studies that night. He knew he lacked the talent for most things that required it, so wandlore had a chance of interesting him. It seemed to be mostly patience and study.

"No, tree species have different magical properties," Ernie explained.

"Might have to do with the magical soil," he supposed again. "I've been reading the subject somewhat." Neville imagined any non-Hufflepuff would be bored to a sobbing fit by this conversation. "Of course, what makes the soil magical is the decomposition of magical plant stuff."

All of a sudden he wondered just how aggressive Ollivander usually was in obtaining unicorn hair.

 _No, there would be no need to kill it. Maybe whoever's killing them has been using his face as a disguise._

"Say, Ernie, what's your wand core?"

"Unicorn hair, same as Justin. He believes there were a lot of those this year for some reason." As unpleasant as it was, Neville recalled Ron's story perfectly, and there was little doubt as to why Ollivander had plenty of unicorn hair. Whoever killed them was selling parts of the corpses that others could use. Wherever Ollivander was buying wand parts, unicorn hair was probably cheaper. He briefly considered that the wizard was simply an eccentric craftsman who would not respond to price, insisting that each student gets the correct wand and everything else could sod off, but he had been maintaining the wand shop since longer than Augusta Longbottom could remember, so managing expenses had to at least _register_ for him. Neville was happy that he had a friend like Silver to explain economics to him, which was in his words much simpler than the dreaded Muggle economics with graphs and arithmancy and empirical evidence.

"Do you think you could see him over Christmas Holiday? He may know something, and I don't think there's any safer way to be of use," he asked at length, thinking it over.

"I might be able to swing it if I have Justin corroborate a false story," Ernie answered thoughtfully. "This would have to be an approved lie, though, since I would tell the older Hufflepuffs. We would have to vote on its moral validity."

"I think I get it." Neville's thoughts drifted to what he had been feeding Silver as he spoke. Having to report on what he saw made it somewhat easier to remember, but even between the two of them, they truly had no idea what sort of secret society was being formed, or what its purpose was. He had been under the impression that Hufflepuffs were generally open, but what he was seeing seemed to contradict that. _Might be I'm overthinking it. That's what Ernie and Silver say all the time._

Deciding to head to bed at last, he realized he was ahead in his homework by some miracle. To make matters worse, Hermione seemed to have some reason to trust not just him but _Silver_ of all people, to the extent that she was setting up a code system. Whatever it was she was trying to investigate had already killed a student, despite the subsequent announcement that the boy had never died. Still worse, he had some idea that Ollivander might know something. Neville groaned.

He was running out of excuses not to be involved.

 _Suppose there's always Gran telling me I'll fail._ He shook his head, putting the Remembrall on the end table. The excuse did not even work in his own mind.


	13. The Silver Tongue

Draco was growing annoyed that he had not discovered much of anything as far into Christmas holiday as they were. He was kicking himself for neglecting to have Crabbe and Goyle abstain from going home, which meant Weasley had a few more friends on his side, as difficult to believe as it was. He had spoken to a second-year named Chang in hopes she could keep an eye on Granger, but apparently she had better things to do. Ravenclaw was one of the less detestable Houses in his view, though considering that there were only four of them, it would be simpler and equally accurate to say it was the only other non-detestable House. _Granger's going to be the brains of the operation, like as not, but mostly because Weasley hasn't any himself. I suppose it's a comparison between a snail and a slug, but there is a difference between them._

" _Slugulus Eructo!_ " he cast at a nearby squirrel, missing. _I'll have to polish the spell more, probably. It's a slow one, so I may require a target dumber than a squirrel to stand still for it._ His mind went to Weasley immediately.

He was not one to wander the grounds aimlessly, especially not personally, if anything he would have Crabbe or Goyle do it, but even if they were around, he doubted either of them could say they were just appreciating nature. As far as he knew, neither of them could tell the difference between an Acromantula and a Tentacula. All he told them on the subject was that if they encountered the venom of either one, they were to swallow a bezoar immediately.

In his own House, Adrian Pucey had some regard for him, at least enough to tell him why the rest of the Slytherins were ignoring him.

"They think you're a twit, Draco," he had started simply. "I'm not supposed to tell you, but I no longer find your ignorance as funny as I did the first few months. For starters, you should never have _accepted_ the duel with the blood traitor. It's not running away, it's refusing to acknowledge him. We Slytherins would be able to tell the difference, though I expect the nuance would be lost on the Gryffindors and they would gloat."

"We're both first-years," Draco remembered retorting, having waited for his senior to finish. "How am I to distinguish myself as a duelist without dueling?"

"You have your name to distinguish you and if you duel anyone, find more worthy candidates. The Gryffindors challenge wizards they believe to be skilled to prove their courage. Of course they might simply be impulsive brats who declare challenges out of anger."

"So you're saying I should prove my ability in contests of those with great ability?" he asked, keeping his diction clear.

"I'm saying you should win. I'm only speaking to you because of your moderate if not notarized victory in a pair duel, hindered though you were by a Hufflepuff as a partner." Draco knew better than to tell him that Longbottom was actually a great help. "For that I expect you may be _anonymously_ invited to the Dueling Club to be shown the proper manner. That said, you will be able to use your Slytherin wit little enough if you restrain yourself to a conservative interpretation of the rules."

He remembered thanking Pucey and being on his way as he walked into the Forbidden Forest. From what Crabbe had been able to tell him, there was a large animal of some sort crouched behind the door. As instructed, he tried a leg-locker curse multiple times to find that the beast's legs failed to move on any occasion. _Of course. As with most magical creatures, it has a resistance to spellwork. Lucky there's always poisoning it._

Potions class had covered a number of different works, all presumably with their uses, but nothing lethal. _Of course, I can't really blame Professor Snape if he's staying in the silly guidelines while bending the rules whenever the opportunity presents itself._ In a crystal phial he carried a Cure for Boils, one of the first potions they made, and one up until recently he believed he would never need. After a conversation with his Head of House regarding the effects of further ingredients, alchemical processes, or wandwork on completed potions, the answers were mostly disappointing, but revealed a new use for the Cure for Boils.

Draco stared silently back up to the castle, contemplating its ideal position on a hill with a huge lake to one side. He could almost feel the effect of leaving the protective wards. His mind returned to the task at hand. _Flobberworm mucus- shouldn't be hard to get once I find it._ The Game Keeper had been all too eager to explain every detail of the subterranean vegetarians; he had even forgotten that Draco was supposed to be on an indefinite detention, or at least that was the way it seemed. He had already planned a response in the unlikely event that a teacher found him on his way there or back, to the tune of 'detention doesn't apply during Christmas holiday'. _The challenge isn't finding the disgusting little things, it's finding them before something else finds me._ On previous forays with Crabbe and Goyle, both of whom he could easily outrun, he had heard the cries of werewolves, which had supernaturally sharp senses.

As expected, his attempt at simply summoning them failed. _Really a third-year charm at the earliest._

Digging through the earth, even with his wand, was the exact kind of plebian task he would leave to his subordinates in the near future- or really the earliest opportunity. Looking around as he went, he could see none of the creatures he expected, but a centaur chanced upon him.

"Human. Leave this wood."

"I'm all too eager to be on my way; I merely require a flobberworm or two," he answered, thinking it a more than reasonable justification.

"That is what the first wizard said."

"That may be, but can I be blamed for his actions?" Draco answered almost reflexively.

"That is what the second wizard said. You bring change to our wood."

"Really, now, is that necessarily true? Those wizards may be entirely unreliable people, but I have no intention of changing the wood." Overturning earth with the levitation charm, he found a flobberworm. _I may have to settle for the one. I need to leave before the rest of them come back._

"That is what the third wizard said."

"Did he return and change the wood?"

"No. The fourth wizard did." The centaur's hoofs were silent as he moved between Draco and the castle. "This will not be as easy for you as it was for your predecessors. If you want to leave, you will leave the other way."

"The other way? There's all sorts of things that way!"

"Yes, there are. You may die. The stars told us blood would be spilled. Bellatrix is gone from the night sky." The Slytherin made a face at the familiar name, but he had greater concerns. Night was falling and the centaur was being particularly unreasonable. "Wizards come to the wood's edge to take what they want. Perhaps fewer would be so bold if they had to go through."

 _He's having me internalize the external cost._

The centaur set off and Draco knew better than to run. Needing to keep it alive, at least for the moment, he put the flobberworm into a pocket on the inside of his winter cloak. As he followed the beast, he debated whether it was better to keep his wand out or put it away. His father had told him that most creatures of near human intelligence resented wizards for their superior abilities, but if an Acromantula attacked him, he might not have the chance to draw.

"What is your name?"

"Malfoy," he answered, remembering his station. _I can hardly threaten him- there is no law in the Forest._ "-and you are?"

"I am Bane."

They walked silently through the darkening wood, mysterious sounds coming from what seemed like every direction. Draco watched his step as he clambered over great roots, a hissing sound coming from beneath every third or so. An echoing shriek came from over his left shoulder.

"A banshee. Would you like to meet her?" Bane asked. The boy shook his head, but the beast paid it no mind. "She will drag what she killed back to her hole." he explained, drawing a path with an outstretched hand. "Our paths will cross in a mile or so."

They continued on their way, skirting a bubbling, gray pond where Draco could swear he saw a hand with webbed fingers. His eyes widened and his jaw clamped shut, determined not to make a sound. He whipped around at the sound of a lupine call, cursing his foolishness for the sudden movement. _I should have run from the centaur- I'd rather chance it on his shot than be dead for certain._

"What creature is that? Do you know, wizard?"

"It s-sounds like a wolf," he answered. Whenever there was one wolf, there were like to be many others. Even if Bane wanted to help him, he doubted even the two of them could fight them all off.

"He is no wolf. He is a man, a lost man," the centaur explained. "We first saw him years ago, running mad. Firenze took pity and we stayed our bows. Should we come across him, run. I shall not stop you." He started off again at a canter. "I shall not stop him."

Draco was having trouble pitying the werewolf though fear. He forced himself to keep from gasping as he jumped off an unidentifiable plant that moved beneath him. Scrambling again to his feet, he felt a deep, clawing need to draw his wand. As they kept moving, the centaur started talking again. The Forest was thick, but there was a faint light only just visible through the trees.

"These rocks are headstones, Malfoy. Do not step on them." Frightened, he was about to protest that the rest of the ground seemed alive, but Bane continued. "Most of the bodies below were children no older than you." His mind was racing to remember what sort of monster killed children.

"Is th- is there a _hag_ in this wood?"

"Not far from here." He pointed off to the faint yellow light in the distance. "The hag hut, can you see it? Human eyes are poor in the dark." Draco wondered if he was more terrified by what he knew or what he knew not. He nodded slightly as they crept forward, a song audible, growing louder as they passed.

" _Buttermellow yellow and smokestack black!_

 _Pomegranate garnet with every hack!_

 _Mine eyes drink colors, can my nose deceive-_

 _a delightful aroma I can't but believe!_

 _Seize them young, snug in their beds-_

 _boil the stock right up to their heads!_

 _Perfect for tea-time, breakfast and lunch-_

 _Leave the bones in for that flavorful CRUNCH!"_

The final word was shrieked as Draco shook, passing right by the path to the door and not daring to look into the window. The way was lined with a gnarled hedge of sticks and vines extending over the path; a seventh-year might have had to crouch. Responding to his shaking, Bane addressed him again.

"Fear not, young wizard. There are worse things in this wood than the hags." _There are more of them?_ "They will not chase you for fear of the wights. If you run, you might live." As they continued they saw a beaten path and the boy could hear a sound he immediately identified as a body being dragged. "Here is where we cross paths with the banshee. They do not eat wizards." The centaur looked down at him to see if he would foolishly breathe in relief. "They kill for fun." The green skinned monster with sunken black eyes and wiry arms dragged a half-eaten unicorn corpse. "Do your best to look uninteresting."

Draco ignored the mock instruction and remained stock still as the banshee stared at him momentarily, the darkness of her very soul peering into his gray eyes. A crashing sound of heavy footfalls came and the monster was on her way, dragging the corpse as she was. As little as he wanted to look at it, he thought of the unicorn hair in his own hawthorn wand as it disappeared into the thick of the trees and the darkness beyond. Bane pointed in the direction whatever giant or troll was going, and it seemed she was going to some other part of the forest, possibly to give birth, from what the centaur knew.

The Acromantulas came without warning.

As they crept down the trees, Draco reminded himself that for every monster bold enough to announce its location, there were hundreds of others, more careful and shrewd. Magical creatures had never particularly held his interest, but he knew what a threat was and how it behaved. Hairy gray legs moved up and down the trees, the thickness of the Forest no obstacle at all. Countless eyes stared from burrows in the ground and an old voice sounded from the darkness, its creeping tenor rising in the mist.

"A wizard, Bane? Why have you brought a wizard into the wood?" The great creature almost seemed to think about it. "Do the centaurs call for peace now?"

"As ever, we have no quarrel with you, Aragog. The boy wanted potion ingredients." A clicking sound came from the assembled arachnids. _If I knew no better, I would say they find the idea amusing._ "I thought to take him to the best the wood has to offer." If the others had been amused, there was little doubt the mocking sense of humor was lost on their leader.

"A thoughtful beast! Magog, the leg." He was addressing a larger Acromantula, possibly a female, who without hesitation outstretched a deer leg on the end of her own sticky appendage. It did not escape Draco's notice that the cadaver was half-eaten and thoroughly imbued with priceless venom. He considered levitating it, but he was relatively sure venom would not kill him by touching his skin- and the only reason he was alive was because his fear amused them. Daring not make the slightest grimace as he seized what remained of a hoof, he settled on thanking them politely.

"Aragog, Magog, this is a generous gift and I thank you for it," he said entirely too quickly and quietly. Bowing slightly, he backed away and the centaur seemed content to lead him back out the way he came, perhaps with no real reason to put him so far out of his way, now that the message had been delivered. Draco was less than enthused to pass by the hag hut again, but he decided he would make it out alive as long as he just kept putting one foot in front of the other.

At the edge of the Forest again, Bane left him with a parting word.

"The wood is not yours. Remember that, and you will not have to fight us."

Going back to the castle with absolutely no illusion that the Forbidden Forest belonged to him, he wondered if the message had been directed at him specifically, or if he had only been there to pass it along. If it turned out to be the latter, he vowed to have it fail by never relating what had happened to anyone, his fear not being part of the issue in any way. Setting off to find the Potions classroom, if unlocked, he would be able to take care of the poison immediately and be on his way. With all the magical creatures intent on scaring him to death the past evening, it seemed only fair.

The doors to the castle were locked as he came to them, but he was fortunate enough that Professor Snape was guarding one. _Unfortunately, there's no chance the classroom is open at this hour._

His Head of House had more than enough questions, but he contained them as he escorted Draco to the dungeons quickly and without being noticed. He might have put a charm on, but the first-year failed to identify it.

"Master Malfoy," Professor Snape started the moment they were in the common area in Slytherin Dungeon. "Might I inquire as to what you were doing out of the castle at this hour and time of year with a poisoned deer leg?" Draco stared for a moment. "Or might I guess?"

"Honestly sir, your guesses just might be better than the truth." The Potions master stared at him.

"Very well. Considering you are carrying a sample of one of the rarest potion ingredients in the world, I am to assume you intend to craft the Alchemical Archetype, the Poultice of Permanence. I can only imagine the lengths you had to go in order to obtain the Acromantula venom, as the nearest colony lives in the very center of the Forbidden Forest, to which you had no access without the cover of night. Avoiding centaurs, banshees, and trolls would have been the least of your worries, what with the known wights. I'm afraid there will be a need to deduct my usual ten points for being out of bed." Draco's face fell.

"I know I did wrong, Professor."

"And yet I cannot help but award you two hundred for the sheer ambition and ability you have demonstrated." His expression shifted immediately, but he attempted not to let it show overmuch.

"Thank you, sir. Feel welcome to a moiety of the venom."

More pleasantries were exchanged, and eventually the Head of House was out of the room. Deciding things had gone quite a bit better than they logically should have, Draco clapped his hands together and looked around the room, as if checking if there were anything further.

Adrian Pucey's dropped jaw had yet to return to its original position.


	14. Christmastime with Trolls

"Leave it to Snape to give us something to do over Christmas."

"Professor Snape, Ron."

"He's not above suspicion, Hermione. We know how much of a git he is, anyway."

They were walking through the courtyard where Dean died weeks ago. The witch had insisted on coming in order to see if there were any clues left behind.

"We don't know who did it- now keep looking." He sourly glanced about, doubting he would find anything.

"Don't you reckon they would have found any obvious clues? I mean it's Dumbledore," he said, looking at where the massive footprints had been in the courtyard. "They cleaned up all traces of the troll. Maybe we should see Dean," he suggested, wanting to talk to his friend more than anything else.

"He might have been able to see if the piece of masonry had been thrown at him or bounced off a shield," Hermione offered grudgingly. "But that wouldn't put us any closer to how the troll got in. Worse, Professor Dumbledore's been busy with the Inspectors." She said as she carefully cast a charm for revealing footprints. " _Vestigia Revelio."_ A glowing blue trail appeared. "He might suspect them as much as we do."

Thinking on it as they followed the tracks, Ron wondered why the Headmaster had yet to do anything about the situation, or what he was doing, if anything. From his brothers he knew the man would take visitors if they came at the right time, offer them sweets, and proceed to try to unravel their secrets. Percy highly doubted the lemon drops contained Veritaserum, and Fred and George would later corroborate the story, adding that the potion has a distinctive taste to it.

"Here we are," the witch said as she lowered her wand. The troll seemed to have come in from the south entrance.

"That's a useful spell," Ron commented.

"It's in the standard book, but I honestly wouldn't have bothered if it were not for the troll going over the stone floors without leaving so much as a mark," Hermione explained, looking at the ground. "No footprints outside."

"Is there a spell for getting rid of all trace of them?" he offered. It seemed like something you might want to be able to do.

"I think so, but this one will just put them back anyway. I suppose this is one of the reasons you can't just go around committing crimes with Polyjuice potion." Ron had never heard of that particular brew, but he let it by. Most of what Hermione said seemed like it came from some place other than the first-year curriculum. Leaving her to speculate for a moment as to what the footprints meant, he was reminded of how she found him in his detention, asking him a few questions about what happened on the train. Her own story was more elaborate and full of details, but it was nothing he remembered anyway.

The words they settled on exchanging were 'toad' and 'madman'.

Thinking on that particular adventure, he decided that his experiences at Hogwarts were not quite shaping up to what his hopes had been. He had been expecting adventure and some laughs, but presently the adventure was investigating a troll and most of the laughter was directed at him. Neville still thought he was a madman, but seemed reserved enough not to comment.

"Maybe someone levitated the troll in?" Hermione guessed.

"Why? Of course it came from the Forest. Are there any more footprints we could follow?" The Ravenclaw shook her head.

"You have to have at least one footprint to search for the rest of them. It's kind of like fingerprinting, actually."

"Is that some sort of art thing that Muggles do?"

"No, that's finger _painting,_ " Hermione clarified. "Could someone have summoned or conjured the troll?"

"That must be what Dad finds fascinating. No, the bloody thing was nigh on immune to magic. I don't reckon it could've been transfigured, either, or McGonagall would have turned it into a matchbox straight out. Would the footprint thing still work if it were on its hands and knees?"

"I don't know, but I don't know what the point of dragging it up here only to have it walk straight again would be. I'm starting to think it's a red herring."

"A red herring? It's a bloody troll, Hermione, unless you're suggesting-"

"No, I believe that someone left these prints here for us to find," she explained, somewhat frustrated. "We're wasting our time here." Ron thought about reminding her that he had little hope for finding anything, but decided she would not like it.

"Well, what does that tell you?" he asked, hoping for inspiration.

"Someone wanted us to look in the wrong direction?" Hermione seemed to be lost in thought. "I _suppose_ it could be that we already have a clue- Ron, that's it! The trail of footprints wasn't the red herring, the whole troll was a red herring!" she announced, visibly excited. "The only reason the mastermind would release a _troll_ of all things into the castle is to cause chaos! That boy wasn't supposed to die, it just happened-"

"Merlin, slow down- what do you mean?" Ron interrupted.

"The troll was the perfect crime- no evidence left behind, no motive from what I can tell. So why commit it? We've been so hung up on who would have a reason to drop some -mad- variable like a troll onto things- we've overlooked the obvious. Whoever did this committed the perfect crime and only to keep us distracted. With the fact that it's a troll, some people think the Gamekeeper did it. With the weird set of footprints, some people think it had to be a powerful wizard." The red haired wizard was beginning to see it unravel.

"So the real clue is Quirrell behaving suspiciously." he decided, remembering the night he was sent back to Gryffindor tower with a particularly unorthodox punishment. "We're supposed to stay away from the door."

"Ron, we have to tell Professor Dumbledore about this."

"We can't- we don't have anything, not really."

"Well, you saw what Professor Quirrell did when you were out of bed-"

"Was it Quirrell or an impostor? Might be he was on his way to guard the door. Worst case, he believes me, and I get expelled- if Quirrell doesn't kill me first." Ron's decision was no moment of sudden clarity, he had been nursing this idea since his challenge with Malfoy. "There's only one way to get to the bottom of this."

"Oh, no, Ron, we can't- you'll be expelled for sure."

"Might be I've got a disguise of my own- besides, I can't let Malfoy win. He and I have a bit of a race," he admitted, noticing that Hermione was reddening.

"This is a race? Ron, people might _die_ because of this-"

"The fastest I can get him to run is- however fast he runs in a race against me!" Ron exclaimed awkwardly, though he only succeeded in making the witch angrier.

"Has it occurred to you that _perhaps_ he's thinking the same about you?" she asked suddenly, surprising him. "What if the two of you are the exact same- always going at each other for no good reason, always trying to prove yourselves- and now, when you're both on the verge of being expelled- you're in a race to see who can break the most serious rule the fastest!"

"It's not as bad as that-" he tried to start.

"It's worse! The other Slytherin- Goyle, I think, caused this huge affair when they had to drag him away from the Slytherin table. _They know_ Draco's investigating the Third Floor Corridor!"

"What does that have to do with me?"

"When they catch him, he's going to tell them it was your idea and they're going to believe him because they know you don't care about the rules. Even if you don't do anything, they're going to get it out of Professor Quirrell that you were there once they start asking the teachers," she explained, still fuming.

"Look- I'm not saying we don't go to Dumbledore, but we go when we have something." Hermione sighed at his words. "They might clear my name if I help uncover all this."

"Yes, and they might clear Draco's too."

"Draco?"

"Malfoy. Did you not know his first name?" she asked, caught off guard.

"Never seemed important. D'you reckon he knows mine?" Hermione laughed, and though the reason escaped him entirely, it was better than having her yell at him. _Mum would probably say she's stressed and lashing out at me. Of course I did walk into it some._

"When I challenged him to the pair duel, he was confused about the 'Ron' part," she offered, amused.

"Well, you know us pure wizarding families, we just can't help it," the Gryffindor offered with a grin, knowing it would needle her sensibilities.

Parting, they resolved to meet back at breakfast.

As usual, Ron found that Dean was absent from the boys' dormitory. Seamus was already asleep, which was a pity. He had been hesitant about helping get back at Malfoy, but when he heard there would be rule-breaking involved, he was all too eager. His responsibility had been tailing Quirrell discretely. He tossed himself into his four-poster, deciding to save questioning the Irish boy for the morning. It was nice to have a bunkmate without parents who could just come and get him at any time, if only the one. In his case, it was customary that Weasleys stayed at Hogwarts for Christmas, these days there were the same amount at school as at home, as the family clock would have it. His elder brothers had always enjoyed the feast they prepared especially for the holiday, something he knew they could hardly manage at home.

Making his way downstairs in the morning, he guessed the reason most of the students went home was the troll. _Course, I reckon the rest of it was on account of writing their parents and then they pulled them out. Why hang around the place where Dean died when you can do the sensible thing and let Dumbledore handle it?_

On the subject of Dumbledore and Dean, the Headmaster had made it entirely unambiguous that there was no way for the boy to have died, even for a moment, as it would have been impossible to raise him from that state. _Would have been my guess too- if you could just breathe life back in like a madman, they'd never leave you alone. Then they'd blame you for every death._

Contrary to his expectations, he did not see Hermione at breakfast, so he found Neville instead. The rounded boy was sitting with a broomstick on the table.

"Seen Hermione?"

"I don't believe so." The boy pulled some trinket out of his pocket. "Don't think I forgot."

"Were you out flying this morning?"

"Yeah, it's a nice time of day. Did my hair get windswept or something?" Ron sighed.

"Neville, you brought the bloody broom into the castle with you," he explained tiredly. He never liked it when Fred and George let things go on and on.

A shocked expression spread across the confused wizard's face as he shoved the rest of his eggs into his mouth before grabbing the broom and making a run for it. _What I should really tell him is that the rules aren't half so strict on holiday- well, we'll be back at it soon, and I can't have him forgetting that._

As he ate he decided it was time to get to the actual work- what he would find hard enough to do once school resumed. _Time to pay a visit to Quirrell's office._

It had been a few days since he had spoken to Fred. He doubted they would believe him if he told the truth, but the aging potion worked well enough to pass as George from a distance. _For all their cleverness, they never thought to have code word like Hermione._ He remembered the conversation as he went back to the office.

"Got an idea for a perfect little Christmas gift, o' brother o' mine," he had started.

"And who, pray tell, would be the most honored recipient?" His brother had worn a bit of an odd expression for a moment, but visibly disregarded whatever concern had been forming.

"The squirrelly one looks like he could use a little lighthearted fun-"

"Untwist his knickers with a few laughs for ourselves? Say the word, brother, I'm all ears."

The plan was simple enough, but not without a classic Weasley twist. For one thing, George knew nothing about it, but Ron had covered that base already by reporting him to Filch, who would believe anything about the twins. As he turned the corner in the corridor, he expected the Fizzing Whizzbeez were already making their suspicious Defense teacher float. Fred knew the man's eating habits well, like how he usually ate in his office. Of course, the twin predicted that this would only make him more overconfident, not suspecting things like a pair of students stealing a tray from an elf and transfiguring the outsides of a few magical candies. If he took a sip of his drink, he would find the exploding fairy dust.

"Sounds like a plan, Stan," Fred decided.

"It's not quite done yet, Nyet-" 'George' responded. "-we're going to get him to chase us. I wouldn't mind seeing his reaction." His 'twin' had a momentary look of concern.

"We're not exactly ahead in House points- this is starting to resemble a hint of where we draw the line."

"Well, if he doesn't chase us in different directions, how does one of us go back and plant a little something extra in his office?" he questioned, a devious grin forming. "Use the color-change charm a few times and he'll be none the wiser."

"Good thinking, Brother 'o mine- what are you thinking for the surprise? _Colovaria._ " The trim of his own cloak changed to an emerald green. _Lucky Hermione isn't here._ "One of our special projects? _Colovaria._ " His hair turned black. _Fred's pretty quick about this- should've known he's done it a fair few times._

"Better. Incriminating evidence of one of our own reinterpretations of the rules." Ron offered, guessing there were a few crimes for which his brothers had yet to be caught.

"The Chaser girls?" Fred asked quietly. He gave a simple nod in response as the confused elf conveniently appeared with the tray Fred had visited. The two of them flattened against opposite walls as the unwitting creature knocked on the door. His brother performed a quick color change of his own robes and hair.

"Professor Quirrell?" it inquired in a high voice. As the door opened only briefly and then closed quickly, it occurred to him that he had been remarkably lucky that his exceedingly clever elder brother had yet to figure out he was disguising himself. He supposed he had absorbed enough of their mannerisms over the past decade or so, and decided that it was just one of those obvious things that you missed because you never thought of it.

Following the screams and subsequent explosion, they laughed gleefully and the professor exploded from the room to give chase. _It's lucky he's going after Fred- I would have had to hit my brother with a tripping jinx to tempt him._ Waiting for the both of them to disappear around a corner, he stole into the office as his potion was wearing off. Searching around frantically, he realized his plan had not included what it was he was trying to find. _Bloody hell, it's a nightmare in here._ One side of the room was perfectly organized, the other was the picture of neglect. Deciding it might be better to search the neat side, since at least it would be faster, possibly, he found a diary. _Perfect._

Leaving, he tried the color change on his robes, but found he was insufficiently practiced with it. _Now I'm really glad Hermione isn't here._ He momentarily considered that she might be able to help him with the robes, but she would never have gone along with the mission in the first place. Kicking himself for not doing the obvious thing, he removed his cloak and folded it such that the hems would not be seen before tossing it over his shoulder. He could find Fred or Hermione to turn it back later, and he was less concerned about his hair.

They met at lunch.

"I didn't see you earlier," he started upon walking up and sitting next to her, annoyed that some of her Ravenclaw friends were around.

"I took breakfast to the library- I had some reading to do," Hermione answered. "I see you've decided to go with black."

"Not really. Technically, it was Fred's idea."

"I don't see why he has to-" she started to mutter, before simply frowning and casting the charm on his hair. He hoped the shade was right, as it was invisible to him. Unfolding his cloak slightly in hopes of keeping the others from noticing, she changed the trim back to a nice scarlet without comment.

"Don't go off on my brothers about this- I'll tell you that story later, if you want to hear it," Ron started. "What were you reading?" Fortunately it seemed some of her friends were getting up.

Hermione took a moment before responding.

"I'm sure my mother would say that you've been a bad influence on me. I checked the Restricted section for anything I could find about Hogwarts and its secrets."


	15. The Restricted Section

Hermione had yet to adjust to the rule breaking.

For a moment she wished she could have the almost reflexive tracks-covering abilities of Ron's brothers, but that came only after years of experience. This was a one time thing.

The Gryffindor was looking out as she was finding the books again. What she was reading was putting her close to a breakdown- everything from unicorn's blood, human possession, and the long history of Hogwarts and the wizarding world. The name that stood out to her was Voldemort. _Dead so recently- and no one speaks his name, no one dares._ The real reason she had missed breakfast was because she had been in the Restricted Section all night- first thing in the morning, she found Professor Dumbledore.

"Sir!" she started, more loudly than she meant. "What's going on here? Is it Voldemort again?" she asked quietly as she came into his office, full of odd trinkets as it was. He invited her to a seat and placed a dish of lemon drops in front of her.

"Voldemort is dead, Miss Granger. There are those who say he is not gone, but he is as gone as he can go. I discovered his burnt body and carried him from the home of the Potters who killed him and destroyed it completely. All the same, he is a memory that haunts those whose minds he inhabits." At his quiet urging she ate a lemon drop.

"Professor, that... might be what's happening. Someone who remembers him- or some ghost of him living on is here- it couldn't be anything else."

"In this room?" he asked quietly.

"I'm not mad!" Hermione had exclaimed, surprised. "Don't you suspect he's the cause of this- it doesn't have to be he's here personally-"

"Let it not be said I do not take the concerns of my students seriously," Dumbledore began. "But what exactly is your concern? There was a scare with the troll, yes, but the troll was killed and no one else died. Dean Thomas is recovering in the hospital wing."

"Seamus saw him die! And it wouldn't matter- unicorn blood can work if you're quick enough. We know the unicorns in the Forbidden Forest have been dying. Please, just tell me what it is, sir," she finished timidly. The Headmaster's expression was a sad smile, and it confused her.

"Miss Granger, know that I have taken what you said into account, but the deaths of unicorns may be entirely unrelated with the incident with the troll. I have been working to carefully monitor the actions of the Inspectors, all three of them at once, and I cannot simply act on suspicion." _Then you can't expel Ron Weasley based on something I said._

"One last thing..." she started as he rose to return to his desk. "Have any of them been masquerading as Professor Quirrell? There's a suspicion that he's been acting strangely around the Third Floor Corridor." The old wizard seemed frozen for a moment before telling her that he was not supposed to report any usual or occasional disguise the Inspectors might have worn, but it would certainly be forbidden for any of them to teach a class. He concluded by reminding her that he was not dismissing what she had brought forward, and to bring forth future concerns with no hesitation at all, only that he doubted there were any secret plots of dark wizards in the works.

Ron had not visited the Restricted Section- it involved rule breaking, but it also involved reading, so she supposed it was a genuine toss up. She directed him to what she had learned about magical possession.

"There's a chance that this is how the Inspectors have been getting around without being noticed-"

"Doesn't that require you to be dead? I thought only ghosts could possess people."

"It's something we can't rule out. There are also a number of potions that can alter your appearance." Ron was thinking about it.

"I mean, yeah, but do they alter your clothes? If all three of them are going to be running around as random people all day, I reckon they'd be needing a whole wardrobe each to keep up with it." As he spoke she brought out another book, _Magick Moste Evile,_ finding again the chapter on three commonly used curses in dark magic- legally, Unforgivable Curses.

"Here it is. They could be using the Imperius Curse," she announced. It appeared the boy had some passing familiarity with it. "Do you know about it?"

"I've heard from my father- a lot of dark wizards got off after the war by saying they were under the Imperius. Trouble is, you can't really prove it wrong." Hermione realized she had almost no idea how wizarding law worked. With most cases she just assumed it was the same as the normal world until proven otherwise. She wondered from time to time if witches her age thought the same of her world, or if they already knew enough, since it made no effort to hide itself.

"So it's a mind control spell?"

"Basically. We're not really supposed to be hearing about it. Of course, that didn't stop Fred and George from trying it on me."

They ended up deciding that they had no definitive evidence as to how the Inspectors were moving around, disguising themselves, though for some reason Ron seemed to be leaning toward the Imperius curse. Going off in search of Neville or Draco, whichever she found first, she hoped one of them would have some insight, though if they asked why, she decided she would say it was just a feeling.

Draco was at a table in the library with a Slytherin she had met, Adrian Pucey. By her assessment, he was rather like a bureaucrat, or at least her perception of one. Seeming to insist on this boring persona, he was cleverer than readily guessed and usually able to help her with the odd question, though she could hardly help but wonder what information he was gaining. _Well, it's better not to overthink it- there's a chance he's just nice._

"Draco," she started. "I need to speak with you about something...momentous." _If anything, the fact that he's with Adrian right now proves he's not an impostor. I would expect the Inspectors to be alone most of the time, even if it weren't Adrian._

"As you wish. Pucey, this is Miss Granger. Bloody nose all better?"

"We've met. I can only wonder what it is she wants to discuss with you," he said as he rose. "Hopefully, it's nothing too long term," he said with a smirk he might have thought only a fellow Slytherin could detect.

"Do your best to keep your eyes in your skull, Pucey," Draco responded in a not at all threatening way. "What is it?" he asked as soon as the other boy was gone. Hermione looked over his shoulder to see an older witch from Hufflepuff staring at them, if only briefly.

"You can forget about it if you make me start believing the stereotypes about your House."

"Why? We take pride in it. Don't you?"

Rather than answer the question, the Ravenclaw reminded herself to remain on the matter at hand.

"Do you know anything about the Imperius curse?" she asked, deciding to put it bluntly.

"I know my father was under one until right around the time I was born. When the caster dies, the curse goes away. My mother asked the Healers at St. Mungo's if there were any ill effects of being conceived under the Imperius, and they said most likely not."

"Do you know how to recognize it?"

"I was too young to see it in my father, but my mother said that though she did not notice at the time, with all that was going on, in retrospect he displayed all the classic behaviors. He never acted himself. He was always unfocused. Half the time he seemed to be going about his business, half the time his manner was stranger yet," he explained. The witch considered asking if any of the teachers fit the description, but he would hardly have been watching for something he had not seen himself.

"Do you think you could keep an eye out for it?" she asked.

"It wouldn't be undue trouble for me. I should mention I have plans for the beast behind the door." The blonde wizard produced a crystal phial from his cloak. "See if Weasley can top this." The potion within looked rather sickening. _I suppose he doesn't intend to put it to sleep._

"You're not _actually_ thinking of going there?"

"Someone must. This offense to the Most Noble and Ancient House of Malfoy will not stand, and I'll personally be cold in the grave before a Weasley beats me to it. I imagine you have a clean record."

"Yes, one I earned by not doing things that are _stupid_."

"I was beginning to wonder when I would see that House pride," Draco said before the bushy haired witch could finish. "If you don't mind, I have some last-minute studying to do." Out of respect for the discipline of studying, she let him alone, catching the sight of the same Hufflepuff witch from earlier as she rose. They made eye contact and for a moment there was an uncertainty as to who would walk over to whom. They split the difference.

"Hi. I believe I've seen you in here before- well, also in there," The older girl started, indicating the Restricted Section, out of view though it was. "I work here in the library and I might have what you need." _Oh no- what now? She works here and she knows I've been reading forbidden material?_ Hermione silently followed, doing her best to respect library decorum in the absence of Madam Pince, the feared librarian with the nerve to leave an original warning against loss or damage in each book.

They stopped in the Invisibility Section, where, of course, some of the books were invisible. The Ravenclaw had yet to divine the purpose.

"It's a simple charm to read them, really. They only teach it in the upper level courses."

"I see." Hermione responded, feeling a nod would not suffice.

"Here hold this- oh, and this." The Hufflepuff started handing her books one by one. " _Dark Magicks,_ that's a good one," she muttered as more and more came off the shelves. "Read them all myself."

"Excuse me," Hermione protested politely, her arms entirely full.

" _Silencio._ Remember that we're in a library, Miss Granger." _I never told you my name. Why can't I-_ Her mouth felt like it had been seamlessly sewn shut, jaws immovable. "You'll find I'm a practical witch. I had you carry those books to keep you from drawing your wand. You don't have the experience for a proper shield charm, but you might have deflected my spell, then who knows what? You scream? You use the _dark magic_ you've been reading." Hermione shook her head, glancing around. _I could run, like I ran from Draco. The trouble is, she won't hesitate to lock my legs- or worse._ "Don't try to deny it. You've been leaving fingerprints in the dust. And now, I don't so much as _tell you my name_ and you just follow me like a lamb?"

 _There's no escape._

The Hufflepuff witch waved her wand and the books returned to their shelves. "You're not as clever a witch as you think you are. Worry not, I started out just like you- no idea why the hat put me in Hufflepuff. Most of my friends were books- must have been the work ethic." Hermione squirmed as the witch held her in place with what looked like a white light coming from the end of her wand. "I know one hundred thirty seven spells, Miss Granger. I don't need dark magic- I couldn't imagine anything I couldn't do without resorting to something awful as that." She seemed to calm down, or at least regain the manner of a library assistant. "Now. What to do with you..." the older girl started, pacing around her. "I suppose I could just let you go, but who knows? You may just use something rather dark on me for revenge. Where you really, properly, should go is Azkaban, but the only thing we have proof of you doing is reading illegal material. A point deduction? Detention? Hardly seems like it would incapacitate you." Before Hermione could react, her wand flew out of her cloak. "I could take this from you- but you could get another. _Finite._ "

"Oh, please don't- I can't do my work without it," she said as soon as her words were back. "Who even are you?"

"Call me Ebony. I'm more concerned for the other children your age than I am for your ability to continue practicing dark magic."

"I'm not practicing-" The Hufflepuff raised her wand again. "I'm trying to find out what's going on here."

"Oh, rather than leaving the matter to the Headmaster? I suppose he lacks the advantage your unique practices provide."

"I've spoken with him and he told me he doesn't believe there's anything going on," Hermione protested. _I need to get my wand back, but even with it she could do worse to me than I could do to her._

"What exactly drove you to contradict him? Fear of being wrong? A sense of self-importance?"

"No- just listen, please!" she begged, trying to keep her voice low. "He- doesn't really believe nothing's wrong- he's just trying to keep me out of it," the Ravenclaw explained, only just figuring it out as she spoke.

"And you thought you would be just fine ignoring his direction? Tell me, if you lose your wand this easily to a library assistant, what do you plan to do about the wizards who've been dropping trolls on students- or whatever's behind that door you were discussing?" _She knows too much- but even if I get my wand back, what can I do about her? Unless I can learn a memory charm in a matter of minutes-_

"Please just give me my wand back- you can cast the prior incantations charm to see what magic I've used recently." Ebony frowned at the suggestion.

"So quick to suggest it and I can't help but wonder if you know a way around it."

All at once it occurred to her that if it was possible to reason with the Hufflepuff, it was beyond her capabilities. She might have snatched her wand, but the older girl was already pointing it at her.

"Look- it doesn't matter what I _might_ have done. You can't just hex me and take my wand," Hermione protested. "I know Professor Dumbledore would take my side on this. I have rights." Another student was staring at the scene from the end of the row of books. _Well, it was a matter of time. This place has been deserted, but we were bound to be seen eventually._

"Pesky privileges notwithstanding- I'll have my eye on you Miss Granger," Ebony informed her as she handed back her wand. "Don't think this will go unreported." _Oh, it won't._ "That's a ward, by the way." she warned as Hermione looked down at a faint yellow sigil in her wand as it disappeared into the wood.

"What does it do?" she asked expectantly.

"It's a ward against dark magic- I can only wonder what will happen if you try to work any with your wand." the older witch said as she disappeared around a corner.

 _Neville- I have to find Neville._

Taking the moving stair while distracted was ill-advised at best, but she managed to only trip once. _Stupid stupid stupid stupid-_ Out on the grounds, she found Neville flying on a borrowed broom. She cast a light charm to get his attention, but his head was quite literally in the clouds. It was bitter cold and her shaking knees reminded her she had not dressed to go outside _stupid stupid stupid-_

"Hi Hermione!" Neville called out as he landed. "What was all that back just before the term ended? I forgot to ask." He dismounted next to her, trying to levitate his broom back where it belonged.

"When?" she asked, confused.

"You know how you pulled me aside and we had some words in a closet of some sort?" Hermione's eyes widened.

"Neville, that was-"

"W-what was the word?" he demanded shakily, raising his wand. _He might see it as a confession if I take mine out._

"Neville, one of the Inspectors got to you-"

"Shut up! You can't trick me!" he exclaimed, jabbing his wand at her. "I learned a spell for this sort of thing- I was afraid of the Inspectors- like you." Hermione guessed that the issue was that he had forgotten the incantation. _It's my last chance to hex him and run for it- I could run into him later today and act like nothing happened. No, he's forgetful, but he isn't stupid. He wouldn't fall for a trick like that._

"Neville, check your Remembrall." Without moving his wand he checked the magical trinket.

"That could mean anything! Like how I forgot the code words you told me when you took me aside- but I just remembered the spell, so it's not that." The Ravenclaw drew, but not in time. " _Petrificus!_ " he cast, causing her bones to feel locked in place where she was hit. _I can't move my arms- better not wonder if today can get any worse._


	16. A Friendly Interrogation

Neville knew Hermione's body was mostly bound, but the spell was tricky enough as it was. As a curse, the body bind was permanent for the foreseeable future- there were ways to reverse it of course, but it would not simply go away like a stinging hex. _Wait, no, this is the impostor Hermione. It's not the real Hermione. I can't think of her like that._

Doing his best to conceal her, he decided the quietest place to take her would be the Quidditch pitch. From there, he would have to find the real one, or possibly Silver, since he always seemed to know what to do in these situations. He tried to levitate her frozen body a few times, but it was harder than a feather. _I guess that's why we practice on a feather in our first day of Charms._ Up at the castle he saw Ron coming outside as he retrieved the broom he had been using earlier.

"Neville, what the bloody Hell have you done to Hermione?" he asked as he approached, visibly annoyed.

"Ron, be quiet- it's not really Hermione!" Neville responded in a loud whisper. "She didn't remember the words!" Ron came closer and looked her over, possibly trying to see if he could detect anything different about her.

"Well, she's out here not wearing a coat. That's a bit odd."

"See! I told you she was an impostor," he argued with a louder voice than he had intended. "Also we have to keep our voices down."

"First, I have to know if you're an Inspector," Ron said as Neville made to lead him down the hill. "Did we ever agree on any code words?"

"No, both of us forgot, probably," he answered honestly. "I thought you were a madman back on the train."

Ron grinned. "I remember thinking you would make a good Hufflepuff." He levitated the impostor onto the school broom, sensing the idea. _We can't just levitate her the whole way there. Even if Ron could pull it off, someone would see us. It still looks weird with her on a broom, but less weird than before._ What looked the weirdest was her position. Still basically standing, the body-bind spell had frozen her without moving her arms or legs. The Gryffindor concealed her awkward posture by mounting the broom behind her with a grimace.

"I had a mind to take her to the Quidditch pitch."

"Not a bad idea, Longbottom. Best spot is the guest changing room, I reckon."

"Go ahead, I'll catch up," Neville decided as he scanned the windows, hoping anyone who had been watching would still be there. _Lucky the school's basically abandoned._ He made his way across the grounds, finding the path down to the pitch. He had not attended any of the Quidditch games, mostly out of fear the bludgers would select a new target, and with his luck, his number would come up. The Hufflepuff decided he did not envy Ron, even though he got to sit a broom.

When he reached the guest side of the pitch, he found that Ron had taken their captive inside and was holding a bottle of flame. The impostor had been un-cursed and the interrogator apologized to Neville.

"Sorry mate. She's the real one. I should have thought of it earlier."

"Fortunately, Ronald and I already set up a code- whoever pulled you into a broom closet was someone else entirely," Hermione explained. "We have come to the conclusion that I was spotted trying to work this out, putting me on a watch list."

"Well- is there no one here now?" Neville asked, nervously looking around. _Can't risk them knowing that we know._ "Maybe we should set something up."

"Yeah, you can say broom or something," Ron suggested. "That's how we'll know. Just remember that you were out here flying and had the idea to put Hermione on a broom." All of a sudden a wave of guilt washed over him.

"I'm sorry I did all that, that was very-"

"It's fine Neville, I was actually impressed overall. I was upset at first, but I realized you were right to take no chances. Where did you pick up that curse?"

"Quirrell waited three days in class to tell me I was reading the book backward," he muttered in response. "I ended up reading one of the spells we were supposed to learn at the end of the year- or part of it, anyway." He had been holding out hope that he could make up for his incompetence through what was called 'muscle memory' by Muggle scientists. His grandmother had looked into the concept to a disconcerting extent.

"Well, I expect it will make a good spell when we do see an Inspector," Hermione decided. "Now that we know they're impersonating me, we have the advantage. Dumbledore promised us they can't read our minds- and dark magic would be found by the wards." For a moment she looked down at her wand, which she put away. "Moreover, something about Hogwarts- I found a layered map in a book in the restricted section."

It occurred to Neville, perhaps for the first time, that he had never seen a map of the castle. It was a big place, but students were expected to simply find their way around without so much as a tour. _How are you supposed to know which tower is the Astronomy Tower? Lucky I haven't had that class yet- so far I only get by following the other students, but sometimes I forget if they're in my class._

"Why aren't there maps anywhere?" he asked, suddenly voicing the question on his mind. Ron chortled.

"We're here for seven years- If you don't know your way around half-way through your first year, you'll probably end up lost in the dungeons, waiting for Snape to turn your remains into potion ingredients." Neville expected there was a look of horror on his face from the glare the Ravenclaw was giving the Gryffindor, but for the life of him he was less concerned about his expression and more frightened at the idea of being part of a Cure for Boils.

"Neville, Professor Snape does not _really_ use lost Hufflepuffs as potion ingredients any more than he uses disobedient Gryffindors or any member of other houses he finds substandard. There is nothing _resembling_ a need for that many child's ears." With a glance at him she changed course. "More importantly, I was looking into the Third Floor Corridor- there are other rooms behind the one with the beast. I can't tell if they were always there or it's only the result of an undetectable extension charm, but there's quite a bit more to do than just get past the beast. Something incredibly valuable is back there and I don't have the slightest idea of what it is."

"D'you reckon it has anything to do with that thing Hagrid got out of that vault?" Ron asked. "Fred and George said this is the first time they heard about the corridor, so it probably wasn't here until recently. They like to explore."

"Wait, what thing?" Neville asked. He was grateful for the opportunity to talk freely, but it was hard enough not getting lost in the mystery without Hermione getting ahead of him.

"We don't actually know, but Hagrid might," the witch answered. "It was taken from vault 713 earlier this year. If we knew what it was, we would have a better idea of who wants it."

"Wait, how do we know there's just the one thing?" Ron asked, interjecting.

"The paper said the vault was emptied- Hagrid's big enough, but it was probably one of those smaller vaults without much in it. If it's supposed to be secret, it would probably be something small," Hermione supposed. "It couldn't have been a wand, he's not allowed to carry them."

"There's another thing," the Gryffindor started. "You know how Quirrell was acting strangely? It gets weirder." He produced a small leather-bound book. "He dropped this and doesn't know I have it."

"What does it say?" the witch asked. "Don't tell me you haven't read it."

"I haven't had the chance, Hermione. 'sides, most of it's really dull. If you really want to take a look at it you're plenty welcome," he offered, handing off the book. "I've only gotten through about August of last year and nothing happened."

Leaving the broom where it was, they walked back up to the castle together. Ron had managed to complete his Potions assignment, which was well since it was due on the morrow. Hermione had of course already done hers, and she bore no resentment toward Professor Snape for expecting it to be done over Christmas holiday. Having forgotten his, Neville asked if they would be inclined to help him and the witch agreed instantly, while his wizard friend was somewhat more grudging.

"Oh, come on Ronald, if it was easy enough for you to do in a night, it shouldn't be hard to help out."

"I don't like doing assignments already. At least normally I don't have to do anyone else's," he argued. "Say, there's an idea- we get a teacher to assign Hermione to figure out what's behind the mirror and hand it in Monday. We'll have this mystery solved by tomorrow morning."

Unfortunately for Ron, if Hermione found it amusing, she did not show it, and Neville did not realize he was joking until after they reached the castle and split up. Trudging back to Hufflepuff Basement, his thoughts turned to his last conversation with Silver.

"It's really weird- I don't know what to do. I mean it's not as interesting as an Auror appearing in your common room in the middle of the night and demanding an interrogation, but it's- what passes for interesting in Hufflepuff."

"No, do continue. I'm quite interested," the Slytherin said as he subtly stifled a yawn.

"I think they're trying to set up something like a cult," he had heard of them before in _The Daily Prophet,_ or at least what his grandmother shared with him. There was always, or at least usually, a central figure or group and it went outward from there. "I don't know who the leaders are- they have nicknames or something."

"Even those can be useful from time to time, I assume."

"Electrum? Ebony?" he asked. "I may have heard those."

"I see. Do take a listen should anything of interest occur. Not that what you have said is entirely uninteresting."

Neville remembered nodding with tight lips.

He would work with Ron and Hermione in the morning, but his instructions from Silver had to be completed that night. _It is with a heavy heart I tell you this, Longbottom, but given the death of our fellow student, Dean something, we are honor-bound to his vengeance._ He found himself in Professor McGonagall's office, entirely alone. _The blackguard behind this iniquitous deed is above the law, and no appeal to authority can help us- not the Headmaster, not even my father._ The door had been unlocked, just as Silver had said. _We must take matters into our own hands- present circumstances considered, it appears the hands will be mostly yours._ Neville levitated the seal and pressed it onto the closed letter, which he in turn levitated into the fireplace. _The work I have for you is of vital importance, as my movements are closely monitored, even when I have been behaving to suit my station, never once breaking rules like entering the Forbidden Forest or finding Acromantula venom from a nasty piece of work named Magog._ Taking a fistful of the Floo powder, he bade it go to the Minister of Magic as clearly as he dared speak. _A confession will not prove anything, I would be surprised to see it even make the Prophet- but there will be an investigation._

Neville gulped and left the room, remembering the locking charm that Ron had used. _But if I lock the door, it'll be different from how I found it. Didn't Silver say to leave everything as I found it?_

He decided to make an exception.

The following morning as his other friends helped him with the project, they paused to go to breakfast, finding the hallways full once again. It was odd to him after seeing them almost empty as long as he had. Checking his Remembrall, he remembered to act surprised when the Headmaster made the announcement.

"This morning your Transfiguration professor will not be here due to an unforeseen investigation by the Ministry." There was a murmur, some notes of protest. "I am aware there are already Inspectors here, but as their purpose is different, their duties will be quite unaffected. Classes with our Deputy Headmistress will resume as soon as the investigation is over, and we do not expect it to take long." The speech was free of flowery words, possibly as a way of mollifying the students, as many of them believed Dumbledore to be mad and inclined to ramble about nothing. Ron had a look of concern for his Head of House, but was likely glad to be getting out of Transfiguration classes, though he had less right to be than Neville did himself. The Ravenclaw had the exact opposite reaction. From across the way he saw his Slytherin friend nod at him, and remembered his words for this occasion.

 _The die is cast._

It occurred to Neville that the four people he nervously considered friends of his were of four different Houses, if he included Ernie, who had been gone for Christmas holiday. _No need to hold that against him, though._ He thought more on Silver's plan as they went back to finish the project.

 _Longbottom, there is something decidedly suspect about our Transfiguration professor and my suspicions have nothing at all to do with how I don't like her or how I would take any chance to get back at her. The investigation will be dismissed quickly, as the victim is still alive, but first the defendant will have to positively identify herself as Minerva McGonagall- the same thing happened when my father was on trial. What-No, he identified as Lucius, Lord of the Most Noble and Ancient House of Malfoy, not a Transfiguration teacher. Anyway, in the unlikely event she's genuine, at least we'll know. If she's not, she'll either go on pretending to be McGonagall or reveal she was an Inspector the whole time and the real one's tied up in a broom closet somewhere. In the first event, they might expose her for a fraud by veritaserum, but even if they don't we'll know she's an enemy of the Ministry as well as Hogwarts. In the latter- we'll know what my father has been saying for a long time- the Inspectors and the Ministry have no place at Hogwarts._

As they concluded the project for potions, which was really a simple matter, at least after Hermione explained a fire spell he could use to heat the brew from the top. She spent most of the time reading from the diary, commenting on the occasional interesting idea.

"It says he spent a lot of time with the Ministry before he decided to do his Grand Tour."

"His what?" Ron asked.

"I don't really know, it must be like the Grand Tour of Europe that nor- the nonmagical do, only it seems to include other places like Mexico and Vietnam. Normally the Grand Tour doesn't include Albania, as far as I know. Apparently it started in the Republic of Bougainville."

"Where's that?"

"South Pacific, I think. I've never been."

Neville left the other two to work on the rest of his homework, finding Ernie in the courtyard.

"Hiya Neville," he called. "How do you do?"

He wanted to tell him everything, but it was too late to involve anyone else. Worse yet, he could be an Inspector. If he remembered correctly, they knew about Hermione's idea of trading code words and exploited it. _They even knew enough to use the trick on me- probably tried to get me to take her to Dumbledore- or another Inspector._ His mind ran wild with ideas.

"It's been quiet," he said as a response. _If they had to choose anyone, it'd be Ernie. He could get past anything._

"Well, I had a jolly good Christmas myself. Did your grandmother send you something? Must be awful, having just the one relative."

In truth he had barely noticed the holiday. When he thought of spending time with his remaining family, he thought of Dean's mother. His gift was a whole package of chocolate frogs and their assorted cards, probably in hopes he would remember the figures on them. The only one he recognized was Dumbledore.

ALBUS DUMBLEDORE

CURRENTLY HEADMASTER OF HOGWARTS

 _Considered by many the greatest wizard of modern times, Dumbledore is particularly famous for his defeat of the Dark wizard Grindelwald in 1945, for the discovery of the twelve uses of dragon's blood, and his work on alchemy with his partner, Nicolas Flamel. Professor Dumbledore enjoys chamber music and ten-pin bowling._

Taken on its own, he had little to do with it, but Flamel's card was interesting enough.

NICOLAS FLAMEL

WHEREABOUTS UNKNOWN

 _As a French alchemist of an approximate age of 600, Flamel is famous for his experiments with Albus Dumbledore, which were rumored to have produced a Philosopher's Stone, the greatest accomplishment to date in alchemy. Preferring a quiet life, much about him is unknown, but his friend attests he fancies croquet._


	17. Nicolas Flamel, Alchemist

Classes were going well enough, though Draco had not _exactly_ neglected his studies over the holiday, which was the expectation. He had done more than enough in potions, with every intention of killing the beast, or at least putting it down long enough to get past it. _Professor Snape should be happy enough with my work. Well, more than he is usually._

Professor Snape was never shy about the promise he showed, encouraging him to do better where he had room to improve. It was a jeer among the older Gryffindors that his leniency was doing the Slytherins more harm than good, but they most likely did not realize they did complete the assignments all the same, only with more helpful advice. The Potions professor was not so foolish as to allow his favorite House slip behind by being too kind to them. As far as the complaints that he was letting off his students with behavioral infractions by 'dealing with it internally', there were two sides to those stories and the victims usually had it coming.

Double Potions with the Gryffindors had its usual entertainment value, as once again their esteemed instructor managed to find something wrong with Weasley's project, which made him visibly upset, but not enough to do anything. _He's not just going to go and lose the race to me by getting expelled- I can't assume it's going to be that easy, anyway._ Weasley and the rest of his House ended up with only passing scores, even if they followed the assignment to the letter. _They produced better work than Goyle at any rate. I'm either going to have to teach him how to breathe through his nose or find better help._

As he was walking between classes, he supposed that in a way, he already had. Longbottom was not stupid or incapable, but gullible and easy enough to manage. His skill with a wand far exceeded either of Draco's henchmen, though it was not a high hoop to score. _All the same, they have their uses._

"Crabbe. We're going to have a bit of fun."

"What is it?" he asked with a slight groan. "More snooping?"

"No, now we have a target to hit."

"Perfect."

"We're striking while McGonagall's out- if we're lucky this is how we find the other Inspectors."

"First-year?"

"Macmillan from Hufflepuff- get Goyle as lookout on this one. Be sure to escape notice."

Before leaving he had instructed them to practice the simple sleeping charm over the holiday- on themselves if necessary. _It should work better that way, since the spell was intended for old warlocks who can't get to sleep._ It was nowhere near as effective as a stunner, but neither of them were ready for that. _If what Pucey has said is accurate, the stunning charm starts appearing in the text books around the fourth year. Either it's complicated or requires some amount of magical power most first-years can't put out._

He ran into Neville later that day.

"Have you heard about..." he started, looking for words.

"McGonagall? Yes, it was quite a shock. I'd say she was suspicious enough, though. Fun for me of course." _I'd be mad not to smirk a little that my worst enemy has been detained, even temporarily. They'll only think I caused it if I act like I know something._

"No, that was weird, but I was thinking of this old alchemist. Might have his name written somewhere." Longbottom muttered, going through his things before producing a chocolate frog card. "Look at this. Nicolas Flamel."

"Not really familiar with alchemists before Paracelsus myself." Draco responded, thinking of his own card collection. "The Philosopher's Stone- and you think Dumbledore has it?"

"Hermione thinks the beast is guarding something. We really don't have a clue what it is, but if Dumbledore made one of those things, where would he put it?"

"Is it that valuable? I have heard of it, but I thought it was a myth." His father had told him of the Stone a year or so ago, but only as a place to set his academic sights.

"I don't know, but it's considered the greatest achievement in alchemy. It has to be something you can't just buy or find." Neville's words were beginning to jar some memories.

"If I'm not mistaken about the validity of the source-" he started, remembering his father's suggested line for making a conjecture "- the Stone can turn lead into gold."

"Anyone would want that!" Longbottom exclaimed, his eyes lighting up at the notion.

"That's the problem. Now we don't know who's after it." Draco explained brusquely, disappointed. "At least I could steal it for all the gold and glory in the world." he muttered. Neville was staring at him wide eyed. "Think about it, Longbottom, no one who's trying to steal it would expect it to be in my capable hands. These sorts of important matters always fall to incompetents- no wonder Dumbledore locked it up in secret, can you imagine what might happen if the _Ministry_ got a hold of it?"

"Well, if it's safe where it is, why can't we just leave it there?"

"They know where it is, don't they? Can't find it if they never found out it went to the Manor." he suggested, trying to keep from exaggerating how obvious it was.

"Good thinking, Silver. They'll never expect it- and they can't be too surprised when boatloads of gold start showing up. You could claim you always had it and they'll have no clue!" All of a sudden his expression shifted. "But this means you'll never be able to take credit for saving Professor Dumbledore's most prized possession." he realized. "No one would ever know it was you."

"It's a necessary sacrifice, Longbottom, and one fitting our station. Consider it a matter of _noblesse oblige._ "

With Neville sufficiently impressed, he set off to finish his classes for the day. Granger had little enough to say to him in Defense against the Dark Arts, but that was the case most days. She seemed apprehensive enough about the instructor. _Odd bloke I suppose._

Bizarrely more inclined to conversation than the witch, Crabbe nodded at him, indicating that the job was done, probably between classes. Draco responded with a simple nod back. He had no idea of Macmillan's blood, only that he made an easy target. Hufflepuffs generally lacked will and drive, and Ernie was no exception, more likely to forgive and forget the whole thing than anything else. Goyle would have served as lookout while Crabbe knocked him out with the sleep assistance charm.

Quirrell had them in an odd exercise. They would be revisiting the running game, but that would come later, to the disappointment of some of the students. Today they were going to steal something magically and not be caught in the act. Draco understood the premise well enough, but stealing was a poor man's game, something a Weasley was like to do if the risks and rewards worked out.

"My apologies, Professor, but what does this have to do with the Dark Arts or the defense against them?" he asked as politely as he could manage.

"Quite a b-bit, Mr. Malfoy. D-dark wizards are weak and few in number. They st-teal t-to get what b-better wizards have legitimately. We must learn t-to k-keep them out of our things." The explanation sated his curiosity and the practical demonstration began, though Granger only looked more suspicious than before.

Quirrell randomly assigned each of the students playing 'victims' a partner, who would try to steal from them. _If I get Goldstein it's all over._

In the exceptionally small amount of things the Malfoy family did not do better than every other, holding onto money was one of the more notable. His great-grandfather, Septimus Malfoy, once asked a West African shaman to hold onto a sum of thirty thousand Galleons, on the condition that he give it to no one else, not even himself. His father, Lucius, was a rare breed, and actually managed the family income and expenses rather well. He asked for the deposit back from the shaman, but the attempt was unsuccessful.

Fortunately, he started as the victim, and managed to thwart a Ravenclaw boy's fruitless attempt to steal a book from his schoolbag, though it had been a clever idea. The young wizard had been pointing his wand across the room while trying to wandlessly levitate the book. What interested him about the assignment was how open-ended it was- on the other side of the room he spotted Goyle doing a complex wand motion on an incredulous Slytherin girl while Crabbe knocked her out with a sleep spell. _I suppose the only requirement was that they had to use magic. Otherwise they'd have knocked her lights out the old fashioned way._

Draco was tasked with robbing a Ravenclaw girl he did not care to recognize. He was not required to take anything specific, only to take something and hand it in at the instructor's desk. If he succeeded in taking it, his victim would not be allowed to run after him, lest the room fall into chaos. Deciding on a subtle approach, he levitated Goldstein's cloak from where he had left it on his desk, removing his own. Unexpectedly, the wizard turned to him and glared, probably thinking he had been targeted, and Draco responded with a smirk. He took the long way across the room, passing by the girl's desk and nicking a quill into the cloak's blue-hemmed sleeve as he passed. He doubted wearing the cloak made any difference unless she was too preoccupied to notice him stealing it, more likely she just thought he already had his prize. Walking to the large desk in a manner not at all resembling a strut, he placed the quill before Quirrell, hoping he had noticed the display of cleverness.

"See me after c-class." the Defense professor said simply, catching him off guard. Retaining composure, Malfoy removed the stolen cloak.

"I only used it as a cover sir, I'll return it to Goldstein right away." he said as he levitated it back, trying not to take his eyes off Quirrell.

"I d-doubt you would k-keep it, Malfoy." he stated, expression unchanged. "No need to d-draw suspicion t-to yourself." He turned to keep his eyes from widening. _McGonagall- she just changed disguises! I was- I was tricked- they had to know of my plan in order to properly counteract it- Crabbe- Goyle, maybe both of them could have let it slip. That, or I've significantly- no, I would never underestimate the enemy this badly. They're clever, but they wouldn't have just thought to swap out McGonagall and Quirrell- however it is that they're disguising themselves._

It was a point where he had to admit he was behind his expectations. He had no idea how the Inspectors were assuming multiple identities. _Dumbledore said they were disguising themselves, but that could have been what they told him- or it could have been what they did last time they were here._ It occurred to him to ask, but either way he was going to have to follow Quirrell after class- he could not afford another infraction.

As most of the students left he and two others stayed behind. _Granger- what's she doing here?_ The sight of her called up a memory of the witch asking about possession and the Imperius curse and Draco put together her reason for asking. _Those are possibilities I hadn't considered- mostly because they're outlandish and unlikely._ Quirrell briefly interrogated the remaining student before sending her on her way. _Why her- why me?_

"Mr. Malfoy. Where were you on the morning of t-twenty four D-december around eleven?"

"If I'm not mistaken, I was in Slytherin common room."

"Was anyone in there with you?"

"I believe Adrian Pucey, sir." Quirrell nodded, thinking. _Of course- someone stole something and now he's trying to figure out who did it._

"And should I floo the c-common room at this very moment and find Mr. Pucey there, would he t-tell me the same?"

"I believe so, sir. We were talking about Quidditch." Draco responded simply. _That was the real purpose of this exercise- he wanted to watch how we would steal- whatever it was._ _Lucky I have that code with Pucey._ In the library a few days ago, he and the older Slytherin decided on a code word of their own- one that would most likely carry over to the next few years, even after the inspectors had left. To recognize each other, they would each mention some aspect of the game- the name of a player, World Cup news, or possibly a quote from Lee Jordan, the amusing Gryffindor who had earned himself a place on the proverbial lifeboat should some disaster befall the school and the Slytherins need to make a tactical retreat.

In the event that Quirrell brought up a conversation about Quidditch with Pucey, Draco had every confidence he would recite the latest final scores. _I may have to thank Granger if this gets me off the hook- of course, only for providing the initial idea, the improvement I made changes everything._

At the end of it he was allowed to leave, and some sense of nobility caused him to wait for the Ravenclaw's interrogation to conclude. _It's not as if she single-handedly rescued me from expulsion on a broomstick. It's really only a necessary detail I do myself credit to mention. Of course, by the end of the term, she'd be thanking me for getting past that beast and saving the day, but I wouldn't trouble myself to mention it to her._

"Hi, Draco." she said as she came out of the classroom and started walking past him. "Were you- no, it's not important. I think Ron may have been the culprit. Professor Quirrell's investigation is losing momentum."

"A bloody Weasley stealing something- imagine my shock, Granger." Draco responded, remembering the simple code. _If the effect of the improvement is really night and day, what do I really owe her?_ He checked over his shoulder to find the Defense professor had not left the classroom.

"I can't help but think it wasn't that good of a plan, was it?" she asked, looking for some sort of confirmation he did not provide. "I mean, was he really just counting that Ron would steal something the same way he did before?" He gave her no more confirmation than he had. "I don't think Ron would pick up on it, well, most likely, but it's also not likely he would just do the same thing twice."

"Apparently it worked last time. What did he steal? A sickle?" The girl glared at him, but he ignored it.

"No, it was Quirrell's diary. I haven't managed to get anything useful out of it." _Of course it's been you reading it. I wonder if Weasley can read his own name. He has to have read it at least once on the list of the world's poorest wizards._ "I really don't know whether he wants it back or just to have a reason to...expel someone." she said as though 'expel' were a difficult word.

"Does he know what's missing?" _Father always said to check that little detail. It helps to know what the little miscreants stole to better identify them._

"He might have suspected you because you went for that girl's book. Really, though I think it was because someone charmed Ron's robes to make the trim green. His hair was black when I saw him, though, but I believe he had a partner for this little stunt."

"He neglected to inform you in advance?" _Buffoon probably didn't want to hear about how stupid an idea it was._

"It seems that way. I didn't believe him when he said he just found it. Oh, and don't do anything stupid on the Third Floor Corridor. I've been talking with Neville, you know." _That little- no, he probably just forgot he was not to tell anyone._

"Have you heard of the Philosopher's Stone?" he asked, changing the subject. "We have some reason to believe that's what Dumbledore's hiding."

"I thought it was a myth. I mean even I heard of it." Granger responded. "I'll look into it." she decided before turning a different direction. _Why was it a myth because you heard of it?_ The statements failed to connect.

Going back to the Slytherin Dungeon, he found Pucey, with whom he worked on his assignments. Occasionally the older student was willing to show him an advanced spell or apothecary technique, but would remind him that there was more to learning than practical skills. On any given day, whatever career he chose, he would be mostly reliant on his knowledge rather than magic, and he was going to have to start finding his way about it and specializing if he wanted to work. Draco decided against contradicting him, not because he had some intention of getting a 'real job', but because the older boy's advice had proven to generally be valuable to him. His father had supposed the idea of finding a mentor in school, but not to allow advice to take the place of his own thinking.

"Draco, only those who both love you and know best will give worthwhile advice." The Lord Malfoy had told him years ago. "In your life you will see and hear many an untrue statement, and it will all be in the name of your own benefit, possibly exploiting your fears." He took a sip of wine. "Should you ever need to drive a man to ruin, that is how I would advise you to do it."


	18. Changes on the Chessboard

For a dead boy, Dean played a mean game of chess.

By all outward appearances, he was the same as he had ever been, without even a scar where his skull had been cracked by the troll's improvised projectile. He had nothing to say about what had happened, seeming intent on simply resuming where he had left off as best he could, and catch up with the material he missed to the extent it was possible. He had discussed remedial lessons with his professors, and though most said he would be on top of things soon enough, Snape took him up on the idea.

"A shame more Gryffindors fail to take such concern about Potions." their instructor lamented in class. _Big surprise with you teaching the class._ "If something resembling an aspiration continues in Mr. Thomas, he may yet amount to something."

Though Ron made no special effort to interrogate or monitor the young wizard in the weeks following his release from the hospital wing, there were many things decidedly different about his behavior.

"D'you reckon they could have replaced him?" he asked Hermione over lunch. "It would have been easier than bringing him back to life."

"I doubt it. It would make sense to want an Inspector in his place, but really he's under too much scrutiny for it to be worth the risk. Have you seen the way people look at him?" He dismissed the idea.

"They'll be done in a month- the end of the term at the latest." he started, pausing as he stared away from his friend and corned beef. "It's just he never really seemed to read this much before."

"So he's reading now as much as he should have been before he had to play catch up? Hardly unreasonable." Ron stared at her, wondering what her definition of 'reasonable' was with regard to studying. "Either way, isn't he supposed to be your friend?"

"I haven't really gotten to know him. Before he died, most Gryffindors weren't speaking to me. They wouldn't call it that, but that's what it was." Hermione smiled a bit.

"That almost sounds like the way the Slytherins were treating Draco."

"That almost sounds treasonous." Ron countered hastily.

"I don't need you to tell me who's trustworthy and who isn't. And for your information, he hasn't exactly _lied_ to me- meanwhile you told me you just _found_ Professor Quirrell's diary as if he just left it lying around somewhere. Oh, and he's looking for it, by the way, in case you didn't notice he basically turned his Defense classes upside down just because it's a required class for all students. Somehow you escaped by the skin of your teeth on that one, but Draco didn't get off so easily- he's still a suspect." Hermione explained angrily.

"Well, it's the first I've heard of it. If you were going to be so-"

"Of course it's the first time, you just live with your head in the sand- did you even realize he would be looking for his diary?"

"No. Why would he? I never found anything, you never found-"

"It's what I didn't find, Ronald." she said, even more annoyed. "He stopped writing in it shortly before the term started. Whatever's controlling him probably never realized he had it- neglecting to keep up a ritual he followed almost religiously before is pretty _damning_ evidence he isn't himself." Hermione explained, cleverly meandering around swearing while getting the point across. "And before you ask, I am going to Professor Dumbledore with this, now that we have something- like you said. Don't try to stop me." she threw her bag over her shoulder and left in a huff before he could explain he had no intention of stopping her.

"Merlin." he muttered under his breath as she disappeared. After the disaster Snape had made of his project, he had hoped to get her help on some things, but that was starting to seem unlikely. He thought about it intermittently in classes and decided she might have a point, but not about Malfoy. _She doesn't understand Slytherins. I haven't been the best friend, but she'll see when he betrays her._ He finally succeeded in his Transfiguration assignment of turning a silver flagon into a wooden block. He might have wondered how transfiguring silver and gold would agitate the goblins, but apparently it was impossible to turn anything permanently, and there would be a cold goblin hell to pay if they caught you transfiguring counterfeit precious metals.

Thinking more on the matter of Hermione, he decided he was being an even worse friend by waiting around for the Malfoy heir to do what Slytherins do best. He could pretend he was not responsible, but he imagined throwing up his hands as she cried and he doubted it would work. As long as he knew or at least suspected what would happen, his choices would still determine the outcome. Years ago his father had made that clear enough to him.

"Ron, it may seem unfair that other people have more than we do, but these are just things. It's expensive as the Dickens to raise seven children, but once Bill was born we knew we would never trade him for anything. I remember your mother asked me if we liked Bill so much, why not have another?" he laughed in a way Ron did not understand. "We decided we'd stop at seven, or whenever we had a girl after the first three were boys. Yes, seven would be just the ticket."

"Why, father? Doesn't that make it harder?"

"I reckon it does, son, but after the war, nothing seems hard. We lost so many friends- the Potters, not the least of them. I'd never seen Molly in such a state." he paused, lost in thought. "The first words I got out of her were 'At least they're together.', and I haven't forgotten since." He waved the thought away. "James Potter was a rich man, and a good one, and there was no expense he would have spared for his wife and son."

"What happened to their stuff?" Ron had asked, unable to help himself.

"If I'm not mistaken, nine-tenths is still in a vault somewhere. If you'll believe it, the only living heirs are a werewolf and a mur- a very bad man." He shook his head. "I'm not worried about money, Ron, and I never have been. We'll get by, and we'll be ready for anything the future may hold."

He walked out of his last class with a scowl. _Nothing's changed- I've still got to get to the bottom of this, with or without help._ As he made his decision, the world seemed all the more terrifying, an open plain of choices, each with its certainties and uncertainties. _What can I do, though? I make a necessary move and I get expelled- an aging potion wouldn't work a second time- at least not on Fred._ It occurred to him that he had spoken to neither of his elder brothers, who had almost certainly exchanged stories by now. _Why didn't I just ask for their help? Apart from being unlikely to get it, that is._

Neville nearly ran into him in the corridor, the Fat Friar leaving them as Ron acknowledged it. He supposed there were those from nonmagical families who would be excited about ghosts in the castle, but the undead were more of an annoyance to him.

"Hiya madman, what are you doing?"

"I don't know." he answered honestly. "Hermione's played her hand- she's advancing on the king."

"Isn't that what you want to do?"

"At some point, but not while Quirrell's got as many pieces left on the board. I suppose we might take the element of surprise while we still have it." Ron decided as he set off toward the approximate location of the Headmaster's office.

"Where are you going?"

"I'm going to go see Dumbledore. Hermione needs someone to back up the story. He won't believe her if she tells him about the time Quirrell found me out of bed if I'm not there." he added as he realized it himself. "At least I don't think he will." It was no secret that their Headmaster put on the persona of a loon, and sometimes it was a little too convincing.

"Well, I'll go with you. Some- someone needs to watch your back." Neville stated, though it sounded like he would rather be doing anything else. "Do you really think it'll work? We go there, we tell the story, and don't die?" he asked, gulping.

"No. Chances are, Quirrell just takes another disguise if he hasn't already." _I don't know how I keep having these ideas. I should try it more often._

The boys reached the gargoyle standing guard outside.

"Why won't it move?" Neville wondered.

"I don't know. I've never been up here before." Ron looked over his shoulder to see Professor McGonagall. "Excuse us, we have something to discuss with the Headmaster." he requested, trying to be as polite as possible. The old witch's face straightened.

"Do you have an appointment?"

"I'm afraid not."

"Then I am afraid the Headmaster will have to contact you at his earliest convenience."

"Is he meeting with someone right now?" Ron asked, thinking of Hermione.

"Why, yes, I believe he is."

"Is there any way we could ask that person if we could come in?"

"Once again, I'm afraid not. This person has rather important matters to bring to Headmaster Dumbledore's attention."

"Well, who the bloody hell is it?" Ron blurted out, breaking decorum.

"Me." Professor McGonagall responded before muttering a password and going up the spiral stair as the gargoyle miraculously leaped aside.

The boys stood there in silence for a moment.

"Did you happen to catch what she said to the bloody gargoyle?" he asked Neville, noticing he was taking the Remember-ball out of his pocket again.

"I don't think I did." he responded glumly. "But I could have sworn I caught a smile there." the round boy said, a stricken look on his face.

"Now we know for sure."

"What?"

"Malfoy was right."

"What?"

"There is something different about her." Ron started as he stormed off. "McGonagall never smiles."

"Come off it, Ron, it was kinda funny." Neville protested, possibly in fear of the idea of a Deputy Headmistress being controlled by a dark wizard.

"Wasn't she supposed to be under investigation?"

"She got out. Ernie said she came by to ask him who beat him up- wouldn't take 'troubled youths' for an answer."

"I told Hermione we couldn't trust Malfoy." Ron insisted to a shocked Neville.

"It was Crabbe and Goyle."

"Yeah, which means it was Malfoy. They don't breathe if he doesn't tell them to- mostly 'cause he has to remind them." he muttered.

"What do we do now?" Neville asked.

"We find out where Hermione is."

"She's not in there?"

"I don't think so." Ron looked thoughtfully at the gargoyle. "McGonagall couldn't have had an appointment with Dumbledore if she'd been in there." It had legitimately impressed his elder brothers the way their Headmaster treated students with the same rights as teachers, always allowed to speak in their own defense and never viewed them as any less important. "I think someone stopped her. The Inspectors know she's onto them- all they had to do was wait until she was on her own. _Wait until I wasn't around, that is._

"Quirrell?"

"It's my only guess, unless she's tied up in McGonagall's office and I don't know where that is."

"We can't base it on that!" Neville protested as he followed Ron to Quirrell's office, exerting himself more than normal.

"Do _you_ know where McGonagall's office is?" he asked accusingly.

"I've been, but I don't remember." Ron ignored him and continued to storm angrily in the known direction of the Defense professors office, irked he did not know how to find his own Head of House. "Oh, come on, Ron, I'm sure I'd know it if we saw it." They boarded the moving stair, taking care not to trip, as running on them while they were moving was already ill-advised. "We just... have to... look in... every room... on the second... I'm sure it was the second..."

Continuing to ignore Neville, Ron found Quirrell's office unoccupied and the door open. He could have sworn he heard the other boy swear under his breath.

"What are we even-"

"We need to find evidence." Ron decided on the spot. "We need to see if Quirrell did anything to Hermione." he said as he rifled through some papers. "We need to know where he might have taken her."

"How do you know it was Professor Quirrell?"

"I don't- but he must know something."

"Wait- how do you know she was even going to Dumbledore today? Have we checked anywhere else?"

"If you'd seen her, you'd know." Ron argued irritably. _Why does he keep second-guessing me? I'm not always right, but I have been more than enough._ "Maybe we can find out how Quirrell's communicating with the rest of them- they can't meet in person."

"Why not?"

"Okay, Neville, you're walking down the hall late at night and you see three people who have nothing to do with each other- maybe a student, a teacher, and whoever the bloody- it doesn't matter. What do you reckon they're doing?" Declining the opportunity to respond, the Hufflepuff helped him search, though he knew not for what.

"What's this?"

"That's an enchanted mirror, I think." Ron responded, seeing the rectangular object the other boy was holding. "Might be how they're talking. Good job."

"What do we do with it?" Neville asked.

"Put it back. I was hoping for something written, but we won't get anything by taking it." he decided on the spot. He imagined that if they took it, the next time one of the Inspectors said 'Quirrell' into his own mirror, the shocked face of a Longbottom would appear. _Wouldn't take long to find me, either. Can't keep thinking on my feet forever._

"What do we do now?"

"Hermione put... a tracking spell on the troll's footprints. Maybe we could do the same with Quirrell." He remembered the incantation and it was supposed to be a fairly simple bit of magic. Thinking about it, it made sense for her to learn the simplest magic first, even if she was capable of greater complexity. "We just need to find one of his footprints."

They left the room, unable to find anything usable in it. Ron made sure to caution Neville not to leave footprints anywhere, or their own could be tracked.

"Easy enough for me. I'm not allowed to leave the castle."

"Aren't you supposed to be in detention?" Neville asked. The Gryffindor froze in his tracks, the color draining from his face.

"I have to run." he explained in a breath as he sprinted off in another. _Bloody- all this thinking on my feet and I can't remember the most important-_ He nearly fell from the moving stair, going down at the rate he had chosen. Making it to the lower levels, where the Potions classroom could be found, there was no sign of Snape. _Maybe I should check his office. He wouldn't be waiting in here for me._ Out of breath, he trudged slowly along the hall, looking for the professor who had dubiously volunteered to minister his detentions 'as a show of good faith'. _He has to be down here somewhere. I doubt he ever leaves the dungeons. Probably sleeps in a coffin somewhere._

Reaching what looked to be the place, he stopped, dreading what would invariably come next. He imagined being dragged out of the school by Snape himself, Malfoy looking on in utter delight. To his surprise, he heard voices.

"I believe he's up to something, Professor. His behavior has been rather suspicious." came a faint voice from inside the room. Ron inched closer to the door.

"While I have concerns for the boy, they relate mostly to his abilities and the fact that his justified lack of confidence has left him with the ambition of a flobberworm." Snape drawled in response. "I have not observed any suspicious behavior out of Longbottom, by any yardstick he continues to be the same bumbling mistake his father is. Your work has been acceptable, and for this reason I have heard you, but do not trouble me with any further concerns of this nature."

"I suppose I'll be on my way, then, Professor." _Hermione?_ Ron flattened himself against the wall on the other side of the door, silently hoping she would not slam it into him. _What was all that about Neville?_ As the girl went out, he waited for the door to close behind her before approaching her from behind. Likely hearing his footsteps, she turned. _I'll need to learn to be quieter sometime. Fred and George might know something._

"Oh, hi, Ron, what are you doing here?"

"I should ask the same. Did he have you brew a toad into a Shrinking Solution?" he asked, putting only the tiniest measure of emphasis on the word 'toad'.

"Ronald, toads aren't part of a Shrinking Solution."

" _Petrificus._ " he cast simply, quietly enough that Snape would not hear. _The real Hermione wouldn't have missed the opportunity twice. They got the bit about correcting me right, though. Creepy._ The spell worked well enough and he grabbed an old Cleansweep from a nearby broom closet after using the unlocking spell on the door. _Now I just need to get out of detention somehow._


	19. Help at Hogwarts

In the dark she could feel a rough, metal surface beneath her as she woke. Rising, Hermione detected that the surface curved upward to form a reverse dome of sorts. She stared with momentary fascination at what seemed like a wood surface above the tops of the edges far above her before remembering the series of events that led her to her current position.

 _When I left Ron at lunch, I was angry. I went to finish my classes._

There was nothing out of the ordinary there until Defense Against the Dark Arts. Professor Quirrell announced that the class would be an exercise in hiding, with all the magic they possessed, only they would not be hiding from each other. They would be hiding from him.

 _How could I have been so stupid? I should have gone to Professor Dumbledore_ instead _of going to the class. After all, if Professor Quirrell is arrested, none of his material will be on the finals._ Even as she imagined the final exam being handed to her and noticing Defense Against the Dark Arts with a line through it, she knew that what he had been teaching her would stay with her, one way or another. _Of course he was qualified to teach the class- there's no one who knows more than he._

It could not have been more than a matter of hours ago that some blue-black haze seized through her spine, pulling her from the broom closet where she had been hiding before there was anything to be done about it. Trying to think on her feet, she decided to play it off.

"You got me, sir." she said quietly. "Please let me go."

"I'm afraid that will only make things more complicated for me." the Defense professor explained, the other students diligently hiding, their eyes turned away. "My diary." he demanded without volume, extending a hand. Hermione tried to shake her head.

"I don't have it." _It's up in Ravenclaw Tower._

"You understand it is a grave offense to invade my office and steal from me."

"I didn't do that." she muttered, again getting around the truth.

"No, but you know something. Your esteemed Headmaster has been keeping me from finding my diary through Legilimency, but we shall see if Veritaserum will do." It had been around this time that she noticed his stutter was gone. She could make out the sound of a child's footsteps in the distance. _Oh, please come this way, please- get help._ Her eyes widened sharply as the girl that rounded the corner was a mirror image of her. It would not have taken any of Quirrell's dark magic to keep her perfectly still. "Miss Granger, would you be so kind as to go to Professor Snape after our class is over? I need a vial of truth serum for, say, Neville Longbottom. He's one of your friends, isn't he?"

"Right away, sir." the Inspector said in a perfect imitation of her voice.

 _After that, he might have put me to sleep- there are sleeping charms, I think. I suppose he could have also used a memory charm. Where am I now?_

From the metal container, which seemed to be brass based on the small amount of light that poured in between the circular brim and the wood surface above it, she guessed it was some sort of magical holding cell, the concavity serving to reflect magic upward. _I can hardly just levitate myself out..._

Not for the first time, she found her situation contradicting her initial expectations of the wizarding world. Despite their ability to see anything in the world, she had yet to hear anyone mention the dissolution of the Soviet Union, a monumental and especially recent event for normal people. It was Christmas, of course, so she supposed no one was paying close attention at the time, but everything seemed to indicate that no one seemed terribly concerned, or even interested. _Maybe it's just the age range. The adults might know something._ Shaking her head as if to rid it of her momentary distraction, she noticed something at the top of the container, a black shape indistinguishable in the dim light.

The motion of the legs began to worry her as the massive creature moved down. _It must have been put here to keep me from escaping- or maybe I'm its food._ Casting the light spell after three failed attempts, eight black eyes shined back at her. Trying to only scream a little, she let out a nervous groan as she looked around, seeing no apparent escape. All of a sudden she wished Neville were there with his Devil's Snare- _Fire!_ Hermione felt around for her bottle of flame briefly before casting the spell again, deciding she must have left it somewhere. The bluebell flames burst forth from the tip of her wand and the overlarge spider retreated somewhat. _I'm not even thinking about riding that thing out of here. No, sir, I'm not even thinking about it._ Turning the fire on the brass only filled the air with black smoke, though she was sure brass usually only gave off a little smoke. Unfortunately her plans were interrupted rather quickly.

The spider was simply whisked out of the container as if by some nonverbal magic. _I suppose there's no point in keeping it here if I can kill it with the flame spell._

"Miss Granger. I was wondering when I would have the opportunity to return to you." It was a booming voice, but she recognized it all the same- the true voice of Professor Quirrell, sans stutter.

"Where am I? Are we still in the castle?" She considered asking how he was magnifying his voice, especially without being overheard, but it was likely one of the myriad spells she had never seen before. _I can't let him intimidate me. Help is always at Hogwarts for those who ask it._

"Unfortunately so." Quirrell responded, almost amused. "The mind arts of Albus Dumbledore continue to keep me from using Legilimency- or the Imperius curse. Consider yourself lucky that we have to do this the old fashioned way. I let you out when you divulge your secrets. Time is short for you, but perhaps another spider will speed things along." _If they're not using the Imperius... possession? Or is he lying? He's not going to let me out._ The thought made her stomach sink in her chest cavity and she sunk down.

"I'm going to die here." she said in a small voice. "You're..." Hermione was unable to complete the sentence, or the thought for that matter. She was frozen. Looking at her wand in the dim light she felt an urge to snap it in half and go home. _This... this isn't my fault. None of this is my fault. I was happy before that letter arrived._

Her mind took her back as she sank to the bottom of the container in the dark.

"Good morning, mother!" she remembered calling as she came down the stairs. She was not one to stare at any of her academic trophies, but polishing them every so often could hardly hurt.

"Good morning, Hermione. You're early." her mother answered, flipping eggs on the stove. She guessed her father was already at their shared office, as usual. She sat down with a slight frown as breakfast was ready, but it faded when her mother reminded her that school would be starting soon. Hermione had always felt- comfortable at school. It was difficult to get along with other students, but that was only because they were... well, once she got pushed ahead a grade or two, everything would be fine. She would be figuring things out at the same pace as everyone else.

"Of course I'm early. You remember what day it is, don't you?" Dr. Granger smiled.

"There's my daughter with her perfect memory." her mother responded, rubbing her eyes some. "You know, your father might be home before I am this evening. I just hope I can get back after the implants and the corrective jaw surgery." Hermione nodded, containing her disappointment. Her mother was only being responsible, as was her father. "Do you want to go ahead and open your present?"

"No, thank you. We'll see if you can surprise me this year." She remembered guessing that it was a book on dentistry, but had been surprised to find it was world history. By the age of eight or nine she had learned not to look in the plastic bags with the MyriadBooks logo. "I'll get the mail." Hermione offered as she finished breakfast.

Walking outside of the little brick townhouse, she scanned the row and waved to a kindly old man who passed by every so often. Looking through the mail, it was mostly uninteresting, as always, since the newspaper was already inside. There was an odd square envelope with green text on the doormat, which was odd, as she did not remember seeing it there before. Beneath it, there was a brochure.

"Your Magical Child and You- What You Need to Know about Raising a Witch or Wizard" she muttered in disbelief. "The nerve of some people-" she thought aloud as she went inside, opening the letter.

HOGWARTS SCHOOL _of_ WITCHCRAFT _and_ WIZARDRY

Headmaster: Albus Dumbledore

 _(Order of Merlin, First Class, Grand Sorc., Chf. Warlock, Supreme Mugwump, International Confed. of Wizards)_

Noticing that her mother had noticed her, she packed her things as though nothing was amiss and went to school. _This is mad. What am I doing holding onto this letter?_ She decided against opening it again in the bus, as she would rather not be perceived as mad, on top of everything else. In class Hermione was oddly distracted, though she was determined that no one else would find out. She would normally read out on the playground, but decided to get the letter out of the way first. As she took it from her schoolbag, a man with long, black hair approached her. He was wearing a normal brindle suit, though he seemed to have something odd in a coat pocket.

"Miss Granger. I am Professor Snape of Hogwarts." he started in a quiet drawl. "I can assure you that magic is beyond a shadow of a doubt real." Taking something from his coat he muttered something under his breath and she tried to speak, but her mouth felt like it had been sewn shut. "I believe the material contains all the necessary information and for that reason I shall waste no time in leaving you to it so that I can continue my post as the only teacher who can functionally masquerade as a Muggle. Have a day." he turned to go, but paused to wave a length of wood in her direction.

Hermione wanted to shout after him with her jaw loosened, but it would only draw attention to her.

Turning to the letter as a matter of interest, it contained a charmingly simple introduction and set of instructions. Apparently she was meant to get to some place called 'Diagon Alley' as the brochure explained, though the way to get there was even more bizarre. The word Professor Snape used to refer to normal people was strange enough, but drowned in terminology as she was, she paid no particular attention.

"Platform _nine and three quarters_? I suppose we haven't left 'Absolutely Mad Central Station' quite yet, so not unreasonable." Hermione muttered, amusing herself as she read. Her birthday was early in the year, so she still had a term and the one she had only just started at normal school. _More than enough time before going to this Hogwarts place to learn about magic of all things- but getting my books early would put me at an unfair advantage. I'll study other things._

She decided not to let her parents know right away.

Professor Quirrell's voice had not returned in some time, and she wondered how long she had been in her prison, exactly. It felt like days, of course, though she had neither eaten nor grown terribly hungry. _In addition to learning healing spells, I need to learn how to conjure food- or at least summon it._ Thinking on the Summoning Charm, she imagined she would be able to bring all manners of things to help her if she knew it. A broom, a couple spellbooks- or help. _Help is always at Hogwarts for those who ask it._

It had occurred to her that someone might already be looking for her, but as she hardly had any idea where she was, it seemed unlikely Neville or Ron would discover her. Draco was probably going after the Stone, which made her wish she could remember the article from _Transfiguration Today._ It seemed spectacularly unfair that what appeared to be a housewarming gift would turn out to be important, but there it was. _This whole time I've been waiting for Dumbledore or someone to step in- that's what they tell you to do, anyway. In most cases it makes sense- turn the difficult matters over to the qualified and mind your own business._ The sound of a giant snake, a low, trailing hiss poured in from the top of the container. _-and then sometimes the sea of troubles comes after you all the same._

She had heard of dragons, but not massive snakes, and without a scream she forced herself up the sides of her concave prison, worried tears forming as the snake found its way in. _Professor Quirrel can't just kill me- he still needs to know things- or does he?_ Forced to confront the serpentine threat, she found it disappointingly undeterred by the small burst of blue flame from her wand. _Small- wait-_ All of a sudden, things started to make sense- _of course it's too late._ Hermione rolled out of the way as the beast lunged at her. _He used a shrinking solution- simple, effective, and it avoids using dark magic._

" _Wingardium Leviosa!_ " she shouted, making the wand movement in the direction of the container, which she expected was within her abilities. _Of course, I'm hoping I'm still as strong as I was._ The metal shifted, but it only seemed to confuse the snake. Professor McGonagall had explained at one point that in addition to simple knowledge, witches and wizards also had magical power, which seemed to grow over time. _I suppose it might have to do with mass as much as age._ Hitting the snake with a knockback jinx, then fire, it thrashed around, casting her against the side and making her drop her wand. Writhing madly, the snake forced the container to its side and Hermione jumped, hitting it with all her weight and feeling herself falling in the same breath. For a frightening moment, there was a girl, a snake and a brass trophy of some sort falling in a room full of them. Not trusting herself to grab her wand out of the air, she forced herself to think and landed on the creature the moment it hit the ground, transferring the momentum from her fall into its weakened ribs, breaking through with a sickening crunch. Scrambling to crawl out as the snake twisted and hissed a pained, continuous cry, she heard the trophy land with a crash. Covered in blood, her hands slipped as they latched onto her wand, causing her to lose it again as the animal hit her with the end of its tail before fleeing.

The small witch allowed the tears to flow as she picked up her wand again, not knowing whether to hide or run for it while she could. _I'm hurt and it's more than I can fix myself- what do I do? It would take me an age to reach Madam Pomfrey- I doubt I could hold onto a broom at this size._ Based on the height of most things around her, she estimated she was around five centimeters, or two inches in Imperial. _Really the fastest way out would be if someone carried me, but the only one who knows I'm here is Quirrell- whoever he is really._ Deciding to chance it, as her odds were better out in the hall than they were in the Trophy Room if her captor returned, she levitated a medallion to the ground, then under the door frame. _I can hardly open it myself._

Standing clear as the door at last opened, she clutched her wound and made her way outside, ignoring the likely confused expression of whoever opened the door in response to awards being pushed out from under it. _Any one of them might be an Inspector- the chance is low, but I have to get to Madam Pomfrey._ Hermione froze as the thought of the resident Healer being someone else in disguise occurred to her. _...I still need someone to take care of my wounds- and at least I'll be in a public place with witnesses._

It was odd to her that no one noticed her at all, but she supposed she hardly looked at the floor. Casting a stinging hex at Neville as he passed by, he noticed fortuitously and nearly shouted with surprise.

"HOW DID YOU GET LIKE THAT?" he asked, nearly shouting again and likely not realizing how loud his words were until she covered her ears.

"Please just take me to the Hospital Wing." the small witch requested quietly, happy that he could hear her as he held out a hand. As the rational part of her mind was at last allowed to catch up, she decided that just because no one would ever expect Madam Pomfrey to be an Inspector, did not mean she was one, or even that it was terribly likely.

As she began to fully comprehend the danger all around, the hot throes of panic were replaced by a colder, constant, and perfectly rational fear.


	20. Neville the Nurse

The Hospital Wing was as empty as it had been the last time he was there.

Madam Pomfrey had not been at all surprised by his explanation of Hermione's 'unfortunate circumstance', though as per her instruction, he left out details. Apparently curing a shrunken student while healing broken ribs was 'nothing terribly out of ordinary'. His friend had regained full size and her wounds were healed entirely. Neville had offered to go fetch her some of her robes, but the girl smiled and insisted he return to his classes.

 _I wonder if she just doubted I could get into Ravenclaw Tower._

She had told him at some point or another that the common room could be accessed by answering a riddle, which usually required a good memory, and then there was the matter of finding it- he had never been there. If Rowena Ravenclaw had the same rules as Helga Hufflepuff, he would hardly be allowed into the girls' dormitory, though he supposed he could ask a Ravenclaw girl to do it for him. _I guess it makes more sense just to ask one in the first place._

As he finished up with classes and set to work on his assignments in Potions classroom with Ron, he decided not to be too offended by it. He could hardly blame her for not leaving the task to him. Opening the door, he saw his Gryffindor friend finishing his work.

"You're early." Neville started. "I think... must have been working like a madman. I mean, you usually don't finish 'till five."

"Yeah, 'cause I don't have anything to do after. I decided to take a few shortcuts." Ron explained, indicating his History of Magic essay, which seemed to have been written inside of a minute by the legibility of the script. "Get a move on, Neville, we've got a class trip." The Longbottom boy was stunned as his friend walked out of his assigned detention, trying to stutter out that he could not simply do that, even if he were done with work. "I prefer to follow the spirit of the law in these cases. I was only detained so I could do my assignments, so I did them. Not well, but I did them."

"You were detained as a punishment!" Neville managed at a quiet scream.

"One they could really do a better job enforcing, I'll have you know. For the first few weeks, Snape was all too happy to waste time in here with me, but I suppose he thought better of it. After that he would only do regular checks to see that I was behaving."

"You're not behaving!" His ability to scream quietly as he followed wherever Ron was leading started to impress even him.

"More recently, he's not been checking at all- I actually missed one entirely just recently." he casually explained as they reached a broom closet. "Took the liberty of taking an Inspector prisoner. Bloody lucky they've got these closets on every corner. What do we need all these brooms for, anyway?" he wondered as he opened the door and pushed Neville inside before closing it again. Before he could react, he was treated to the sight of a frozen in place Hermione. "Pretty good spell you showed me earlier."

"What the bloody Hell is this?" Neville asked, surprised at himself. _Gran's going to go through funeral brochures if she finds out about my dirty mouth._

"Merlin, Neville, calm down. She's not Hermione. I checked with the codes."

"She couldn't have forgotten?"

"She wouldn't have with two chances." Ron explained, almost avoiding the question. "I've been trying to get it out of her where the real one is. Trouble is, I can't get her to stop lying about some old goblet in the Trophy Room." He raised his wand, readying to cast on his captive. "Give me a hand here, I'll un-petrify her again."

"Well, there's no need for that. I found her." Neville offered.

"Well why didn't you just say so?" Ron waved before he could respond. "Never mind, we have to tell her about this."

The Longbottom heir nearly exploded with frustration, in the middle of answering a question as he was and still unable to get a word out. If Mr. Weasley was anything like his youngest son, it was a wonder his parents were ever able to get along with him. They left the broom closet and its prisoner and almost headed off to the Hospital Wing before Neville checked his Remembrall.

"Ron, you're still in detention. I can do it myself." he started. "It'll be better for... everyone this way."

His friend apparently decided to leave it to him, returning to the Potions classroom without another word. _I wouldn't say he trusts me. Gran said she wouldn't trust me as far as she could throw me, levitation or otherwise._

Making it back to find Madam Pomfrey absent, he noticed a partition around Hermione's bed. Walking quietly to avoid waking her up, Neville checked behind the partition to find the witch asleep. _Probably needs it after all this._ Though she had not given him a full account on her way to the Hospital Wing, there had been a few things she told him when the Healer asked. _She wouldn't have lied, but there were some things she left out._ He remembered the older witch had looked moderately disappointed in the curtailed explanation, but was less than concerned, most likely because there were more important matters to attend.

With no one around to tell him otherwise, Neville considered sleeping in one of the nearby beds, but doing so would require him to forgo a shower and charming his teeth, which he found intolerable, even for one evening. With most things almost impossible for him to remember, having certain routines was a cornerstone of stability in his life. He returned to his room for the evening to find Ernie.

In his grandmother's frequent letters, she would ask him whether or not he managed to make any friends, and he went on at great length about Ron and Hermione and Ernie, though Silver was a man of mystery, who had specifically requested to not be recorded for posterity. It had been his understanding all the years of his life that the old pureblooded families valued their repute, both personal and hereditary, above all else, but his friend thought only of the safety of the other students in volunteering to find the Philosopher's Stone and hide it, never using it for personal gain. Of Ernie his grandmother said she was happy he managed to befriend other Hufflepuffs at least, though she did admonish him to stay away from the Slytherins at all cost.

"Hi, Ernie. How's life?" he asked, thinking about how most of their conversations were about enchanted paintings and how far away they were from being considered people.

"Oh, you know, classes, being frightened- it's the usual bit." he started. "Did they ever find your friend?" _I did, if you want to be specific about it. I don't know what's happened to her. I'm worried about her._

"She's in the hospital wing." the Longbottom heir said simply. _Can't go around claiming credit for things even if I wanted to worry Ernie more than he's already worried. It's a matter of noblesse oblige at this point._ "They don't know what happened." _She won't tell them. Officially, she's not required, at least I don't think she is._

"We need to prevent this kind of thing." Ernie decided.

"How? We can't kick out the Inspectors." He kicked himself for naming them. "I mean, well, they're making it easy for whoever's doing this."

"Really?"

"Yeah. Ron's always on about it. They're tying up Dumbledore." He started getting ready for bed. "He has to spend every moment keeping the Inspectors from using Legilorolomyncy." Neville checked his Remembrall, making a face as it came up red. "Worse, if a dark wizard wants to hide here, now's the best time to do it. They're supposed to be looking for dark stuff, but have they found anything?" It was something that had bothered him for a while. "Gran was always going on about how the Ministry keeps on spreading out its duties."

"They're making more paperwork for themselves? Why?"

"The Inspectors don't _do_ any paperwork!" Neville argued, nearly exploding. "Gran's had the _Prophet_ for- the better part of a century, and they've never found a thing!"

"How do you know?" Ernie challenged, upset. "They could have just hidden what they found!"

"That's even worse! They're not finding dark wizards-" Ernie tried to interrupt, but Neville continued, raising a hand. "-if a student disappeared, it would be in the paper- you can't memory charm everyone. So what are they finding? Why are they still interested?"

"Why are you asking questions? Are you a dark wizard?"

The Longbottom heir exploded, walking out of the dormitory, too angry to even respond. _Ernie's not my friend. How dare he ask that?_ He sat alone in the common room, thinking on the boy. _Well, he doesn't really know me. We don't talk about anything real, just enchanted paintings. I don't trust him._ A painting stole a glance at the pouting boy before turning away again. _Why should he trust me?_

On the one hand, he had few friends and he liked the idea of having one in his own House. Most Hufflepuffs were friendly, easy folk, and he had no problem living into the reputation. He had already figured he would have to work hard, since his grandmother always told him he would never make it on brain power. The Macmillan boy had been nicer to him than anyone from the Weasley family, least of all Fred and George, who seemed to enjoy exploiting his poor memory. Hermione hid it well, but she looked down on him most of the time. Apart from Ernie, the only person who seemed to want to be his friend was Silver. Another plus was that he seemed good-natured enough, he had even forgiven the bullies who attacked him for no clear reason.

On the other, there was no reason he and the other Hufflepuff had to be real friends. Most of the people he knew he knew only in passing, inside of that there were those with whom he had only exchanged a handful of words. If he and Ernie were so different, maybe it was better that they just keep talking about animating enchantments. His other friends seemed to be sorry for underestimating him on Halloween, and not just because he trapped them with Devil's Snare. They helped him with a Potions project, and they earnestly trusted him. _Meanwhile I so much as say the Inspectors might be wrong and Ernie wants to report me._

He was starting to wish the Ministry officials had come some other year when a Prefect sent him to bed.

"I'm going." he muttered obediently.

"Actually, could you answer me something?" he turned to face the older girl. He had seen her _somewhere._

"I hope so." he said, checking his Remembrall. _But where was it?_

"Have you been associating with Hermione Granger?" the Prefect asked. "Have you been talking with her in the library?"

"Not at a distracting volume." Neville answered dutifully. "She's really quite respectful of other students-"

"No, do you know what she's been reading?" she interrupted.

"I can't say." _More than she should really have to read- Unforgivable curses._ The thought almost made him flinch. He did his best to keep lying from showing in his face, as it usually did.

"She's been reading books on dark magic. It's actually concerning. I confronted her about it, but she tried to get out of it rather than apologizing. I'm not sure she's telling the truth." _I'm not sure you're telling the truth._ Despite his best efforts, Neville was certain he was turning red. "You're not in trouble now, but I would recommend you either sever ties with dark magic, or tell me should you see anything suspicious. You can talk to us about these kinds of things."

"Of course." he agreed, probably too quickly. _Silver might say he would expect a first-year to be jumpy around the older students._ He went back up to the dorm as the Prefect gestured him in the direction, reminding him. Ernie was already asleep. _No reason to wake him. Tomorrow's Saturday._

The following day he found Hermione straight away, though on his trip to the Hospital Wing he checked to see if he had forgotten any assignments. The inside of the Remembrall showed up red. _I'm sure it isn't much. Better not mention it to her, though._

"Do you have work to do?" the Ravenclaw asked as soon as he entered. He found her surrounded by some of her other friends, all with blue-trimmed robes.

"Yes." he answered simply, cursing himself. One of the visitors made a minuscule smirk.

"Well, just do it while everyone else finishes up here." Hermione suggested, sitting up on the bed. _I should have figured Madam Pomfrey'd make short work of those injuries._ He stepped out into the hall as he had not brought his schoolbag with him. _I need to start taking it everywhere. I can carry potions- and it can give me something to do._ As it was, he simply waited out in the corridor a few moments until everyone else left.

"Hermione, what happened?" he opened. The witch looked around a moment before answering.

"Quirrell happened. He's an Inspector or something worse. He can use dark magic, for one. My guess is Dumbledore's only checking for the mind arts like Legilimency and the Imperius Curse. Ron said there were wards- where is he?"

"That's another story. I'll let him tell it himself." _I wasn't there for a good bit, and another good bit I can't remember for the life of me._

"Fine. Has there been anyone looking for me?"

"Yes, all over. I'm surprised Dumbledore isn't here now, being honest." It had been a confusing few days, and the only redeeming factor was that the Gryffindor ran into the Inspector by dumb luck. He guessed she was there to take Hermione's place, keep from arousing suspicion. _Well, your plan didn't work. Suspicion's aroused all right._ "Parents have been owling. Dumbledore made an announcement that you might have gone into the room on the Third Floor-" the girl hung her head and groaned.

"It looked as if things couldn't get worse." She straightened. "I can't blame him, of course. There have already been students who've gone in-" Hermione stopped suddenly. "What happened with them?"

"I don't know." Neville responded honestly. "Dumbledore said, well, he implied, I think, that one was injured and one went mad."

"That might confirm my theory about there being obstacles behind the beast- of course, we might learn what one of them is, if we knew who went insane." she decided, determined to get to the bottom of the mystery.

"Hermione... there's no way of curing insanity."

"Oh." She cocked her head slightly. "I was under the impression you could cure most anything."

"Yes, the Healers can cure most things, but there are other things that they don't fully understand. They say you can't just make up a spell that does something without knowing how it does it. They keep coming up with theories, but the theories keep not working."

"Where did you-" As always, the Ravenclaw returned to the task at hand. "Does Dra- Silver know how to get past the beast?"

"Yes." _I don't know that it's allowed, but he'll get past it._ As he thought of the deadly poison, he thought of the Shrinking Solution Ron had made for him. "Did Quirrell dump a Shrinking Solution on you?"

"That or something of dark magic. No spell I've read can just shrink you like that." Neville was not so thick he did not see the opportunity.

"You haven't been reading about dark magic? What if the Inspectors are using it?"

"As little as I like it, I can't read everything. Once this Hufflepuff girl with a Prefect badge stopped me in the library about reading from the Restricted Section. She thought I was into dark magic, but she wouldn't have seen me in that section. I didn't think to contradict her... she had me kind of flustered." she admitted. "I suppose I've never confronted anything like this- or really anything at all before. She had me so afraid, Neville- I don't know what's going on here. I don't know what's going on in this whole world." It seemed like there was something she wanted to say, but she decided against it. "Well, she talked about how she was going to tell Dumbledore about me- as if he doesn't have enough _real_ concerns- and I only got out because she couldn't say for certain that I did it. What I couldn't believe was that on top of everything else, she seemed to _resent_ not being able to report me and throw me in... Azkaban just on suspicion. What even made her think I was reading dark magic in the Restricted Section?"

"Maybe the other Hermione did it." The look on the face of the genuine article suggested some explanation was warranted. "I'll see if I can get Ron in here."

"Not a bad idea, Neville." the Ravenclaw responded. "See that you do."


	21. Captor and Captive

Draco had planned to tell Longbottom about the invasion of Malfoy Manor by Inferi, as well as the Slytherin who could use necromancy, but he was interrupted by another matter, which genuinely surprised him.

"We found a false Hermione," the boy had blurted out awkwardly.

It was a few days since the real one had been found, but apparently Weasley had been keeping this one longer, barely allowing her to eat, and then, what little he could smuggle from mealtimes.

"Has the real one been informed?"

"We've told her. We've been trying to question her, but we can't get anything out."

"You haven't told Professor Snape? He might be able to supply us with some Veritaserum."

"Good thinking, Silver, but I think the others want to keep it quiet," Neville explained. _I should have assumed as much- Weasley's likely hanging by a thinner thread than I am._ "We're still trying to get Quirrell's diary to Dumbeldore, but he's been out."

The disappearance of Hermione Granger had not gone unnoticed, thanks apparently to the red-haired fool hiding the facsimile in a broom closet. The way the Headmaster was trying to explain it, it was all the fault of the Inspectors providing cover for anyone who wanted to invade Hogwarts. Dumbledore was well regarded both domestically and internationally, and he did not throw his word around lightly. All the same, there was a _Prophet_ article decrying his failure to protect the students. _He's certainly not all he's cracked up to be, but I would think the average reader should at least make the connection that he's having to protect us_ from _the Ministry-appointed Inspectors. If it hadn't been a Hogwarts professor's idea in the first place, he might have had the grounds to shut the program down entirely._

The clone was frozen in a dignified position. _Either Weasley gave her the chance to pose or he re-applies the curse after feeding her._

"Petrified?"

"That's what I think the incantation means."

"Has your friend thought to un-petrify her to ask questions?"

"That's what he usually does. What are you going to ask her?"

"She's going to tell me what I want to know, Longbottom. Whoever she is really, she is one of the Inspectors- and one trying to impersonate the Granger girl- as you tell it, to cover up her disappearance. What has Weasley been asking her?"

"Mostly about where Hermione was hidden, then about Quirrell once we found her- a few things only she would know." _Quirrell- almost certainly one of the Inspectors, though Neville says he can use dark magic._ "Her proper name is Alecto Carrow, but that's the most we've had out of her, I think." Draco waved a hand and his loyal Hufflepuff unfroze not-Granger girl.

"I recognize you," the Inspector said suddenly. "You're Lucius's son." Just as she spoke she put a hand over her mouth.

"Yes, I may have met an Alecto at one point- you never went to prison, along with your brother, did you? Talked your way into a cozy position at the Ministry?" _As Slytherins go, not a bad role model._ "She's not lying about her name, Neville. I wager she knows she hasn't been caught with anything serious- playing dumb until the end of the term if all else fails. Was this the one who dragged you aside the once?"

"She might have been," Longbottom was visibly thinking. "She tried to set up the code words with me, so they know we have them."

"What did she use?"

"She used the core and wood for her wand, but I haven't the foggiest what they were." _It's not important- she knew the Granger girl's wand because someone told her- Alecto doesn't know anything about wandlore, not from what I know. She's also not terribly creative, using the first detail about the girl that popped into her head. Probably doesn't know much about Granger or Longbottom._ "Hermione asked me about it yesterday. I can't remember why. She told me McGonagall inspected her wand before that." Draco cursed under his breath. "What?"

"They're moving around. I've suspected McGonagall from the beginning- and we were right to get her out of Hogwarts- she didn't leave, the real one left and she just went back to being Granger. She'd done it before, if you have the timing right."

"What does it mean, Silver?"

"We ruled out the Imperius Curse and possession when there were two Granger girls. Polyjuice potion would have worn off." _I don't have a clue how long the potion lasts, but it is supposed to run out eventually. It was impractical anyway- from what the girl said, it has to be brewed months in advance- the sheer amount that would be required for three Inspectors to be changing disguises all the time- even I couldn't afford it._

"What do you think it was?" Longbottom asked.

"There are spells that alter your appearance." Draco had seen his mother use them here and there. "This level of detail would be difficult, but not impossible." As he spoke, the impostor let out a mocking giggle. "Something funny?"

"You really think I could rearrange my appearance that much? You really are a child." Her sudden desire to have input was distracting. "You know nothing about magic- and nothing about the world outside your little school. You're just a rich boy in over his head, miles and miles away from daddy."

Unprepared, but not in the least bit flustered, or no more so than when McGonagall gave him indefinite detention in front of everyone, the Malfoy heir composed a dignified expression for response.

"You're going to tell us everything we want to know or you're going to wish you were that house-elf that forgot to praise the Dark Lord," he said suddenly, recycling one of his father's threats. The color seemed to drain out of not-Granger girl's face. Neville seemed shocked enough, though for an entirely different reason. "How are you changing your appearance?" he asked, pressing the momentary advantage.

"We just made the Polyjuice last longer than normal- I think it's the same potion; it tastes the same. I don't know how they did it." _Longbottom likely suspects I'm threatening her, but it's just so. Sooner or later he would learn the power the Malfoy name conveys, and sooner or later I needed an answer out of Alecto._

"Who is Quirrell, really?"

"Some older bloke from the Ministry- I don't keep track of-" Draco considered raising a hand, but Weasley had been doing enough with various jinxes if the bruises meant anything. _Can't go too far with the real Granger around, can he?_

" _Flipendo,_ " he cast, aiming for her knee. It took her legs out from under her, though not for the first time, by his estimation.

"Silver..." Neville started.

"She's an adult disguised as your friend, Longbottom. We're short on time here." He turned back to the captive. "Who is Quirrell? Where is the real one?"

"I really don't know- Rufus something- we were briefed on a few students, but our main responsibility was to find out what the Department of Mysteries _didn't_ know. I don't know the bloke who's running about as Quirrell- he came in as a Ravenclaw boy; we were all supposed to enter as students."

"Told all this to Weasley?" A spectacularly uncharacteristic smirk spread across the not-Granger girl's face.

"He lacks the proper cruelty- a jinx here and there, yes, but he feeds me. If you get my wand back from him-"

"Don't change the subject," Neville insisted. "Where's the real Quirrell?"

"I don't know- the false one insisted we never check the second-floor girls' bathroom. Not that I needed persuading with Moaning Myrtle in there." Draco nodded at his loyal Hufflepuff, though the meaning seemed to escape him.

"Get Granger on it," Longbottom disappeared. "You weren't supposed to take on the guises of faculty?" he asked, turning back to the Inspector.

"Not really. We could temporarily be them if necessary, but the point of our presence isn't to interrupt the education of the students. Rufus, if that is his name, insisted he could do a better job teaching than the real Quirrell and it would keep suspicion away from him."

"Who's the other one?"

"Enid Bagnold. Youngish witch, works for the Department; don't know her. Last I checked she was a Hufflepuff Prefect." _Looks like something really is going on in that House._

"Any relation to Millicent Bagnold?" His father had criticized her extensively, placing her on his long list of least competent Ministers of Magic, her term having expired just recently. Cornelius Fudge was 'a lovable, contented moron, well-regulated and competent enough in peacetime'.

"Her mother- the Malfoy family may have invented nepotism, but it isn't the sole proprietor. She was appointed in the twilight hours of her mother's term."

"How does the Ministry know when you leave?"

"We're not to leave the castle during our assignment. Hogwarts warding knows our true identities, and usually there's an official watching with Dumbledore. We don't report to the Department while in the castle as it would arouse suspicion, only to each other."

"So if any one of you is captured an extended period of time?"

"We're left to our own devices. Speaking of, you didn't believe you'd be getting all this for free, did you?" The smirk was starting to look oddly fitting.

"You know what I'll do to you if you're lying," Draco reminded her, realizing that she might have done just that as insurance.

"Oh, come on, Malfoy. You know I can be more useful to you out of here. I can be McGonagall and get you out of your punishment. I can memory charm her again. False Memories are introductory at the Department of Mysteries." _I would think work at the Department changed more than your magical arsenal._

"A tempting offer, but detention has not proved a significant obstacle for a young man of my resources."

"Really? I'll allow it, but I've heard quite the opposite from the Weasley boy, with the same punishment as you." Draco's grimace did not make it to his face. "Of course, there's something else I can offer you- you like this little witch, don't you?" No expression of any kind reached him, though he did pause to consider it. His father had said something to the effect of Ravenclaw being the bride of Slytherin, and that he would not do ill by himself to marry from that House. "You don't have to say anything- but how about a kiss?"

It would have been beneath Malfoy's dignity to shy away entirely, and kissing her would hardly amount to agreement in the bargain she was proposing.

"Put your arms round my waist, boy." He smirked and did as instructed. _I suppose some instruction on romantic matters would be welcome sooner or later._ Their lips met softly and he felt a sharp pain in his lower back. Draco tried to pull away, startled, but the impostor's hands were already locked behind his back. She quickly grabbed his wand and kicked him in the shin, knocking him to the ground before casting the full body-bind curse.

 _"Petrificus Totalus."_ His arms and legs jerked straight and became immovable. "Really Draco, did you think I would go somewhere without a knife?" The brass weapon was pointed at his eye. "The Weasley boy thought to take my wand, but like you he lacked the stones to search me properly- of course, he never fell for that one. When the Dark Lord returns, I'll make sure to tell your father all about your first kiss."

As the Inspector left out the open door, he tried to groan, but no sound came out. _How do people breathe while petrified? Is the blood still coming out of the wound?_ He vainly attempted to look, but even his eyes refused to move. All the same, a pool of blood answered the question for him. _At least my sense of panic seems to be petrified. I feel like I'm dying and I couldn't lose my marbles if I wanted._

Within moments Neville and Hermione were at the door, the latter screaming. A few panicked bursts of light came from Longbottom's wand as the girl collected herself and sank to the floor, taking her wand out. He felt the wound seal, bit by bit as the Hufflepuff released him from the curse. _Must have learned a healing spell after I made her nose bleed._ Arms and legs spilling out, the Ravenclaw's panicked voice insisting that he stay still, Draco grabbed at a wand sticking out of the boy's cloak, taking it as he held him down. _Probably didn't even notice- could be Alecto's wand, I suppose._

Granger finished healing him- patching up his injuries and not a word was exchanged between the three of them until Weasley entered.

"Alecto got away- slipped off into the crowd." He turned to Draco. "Good show, there, letting her out."

"Really now? Little miss problem child had a brass knife on her. I don't expect you found it."

"Not really. Didn't let her get close enough to use it."

"Stop it, both of you- you're not helping anything," Granger interceded.

"I had the Inspector all wrapped up-" Weasley started.

"We were going to have to let her go eventually," the witch argued, cutting him off. "Draco, what did you learn from her?"

"She can't leave the castle- Dumbledore will know. There's a Hufflepuff Prefect-" Longbottom's face lit up. "I see you've met her."

"I have as well," Granger offered. "Ebony's starting something with the Hufflepuffs-" The lack of surprise on the Gryffindor's face indicated he had been informed of most of it at least. "What was this about the second floor girls' bathroom?"

"We think it's where the real Quirrell is stored. If we move quickly, together, he'll expose all of them," Draco explained, having exited the broom closet, bringing the others with him. He felt a bit light on blood, but it was no cause for concern.

"Stay close- she'll know about all four of us," Weasley started. "We're out in the open and if we make it to the second floor, it's over for them." Draco chose not to respond, casting the light charm in the hopes it could detect invisibility. _Mostly right, but there's no need to tell him that._ "We have to assume Quirrell knows as well. No more pretending for Hermione." The Slytherin supposed that was how she had been attending Defense classes the past few days; a simple wink in the instructor's direction would be enough to let him know she was an impostor too. _Clever girl._

Neville deflected a curse coming from the rear, though the caster was nowhere to be seen. Granger was less forgiving. Casting a flame charm, a blue jet of fire erupted from her wand, which she waved around behind them as they moved to the staircase.

"I made an invisibility potion weeks ago, but Quirrell might have taken it from me. I no longer have it."

"Good to know," Weasley commented, casting the locking charm on a nearby door, lest there was someone waiting to jump out of it. _Lucky it's a Saturday- couldn't imagine having to get around the teachers when I'm supposed to be in detention._ As they made their way out onto the moving stair, the Defense teacher was waiting at the top.

"You've come far enough, Miss Granger." Four wands were at the ready, but Draco had little enough confidence they would be enough, even together. _Aim for the feet._ Neville was immediately blinded by what seemed to be an arcing pair of streams to the eyes, but not before attempting a body-bind curse, which the target easily deflected, along with Weasley's explosive of some sort. He and the girl managed to get close with the knockback jinxes, though only one of them hit. Momentarily off balance, Quirrell deflected a few panicked curses from the witch before hitting her with a silencer. Unfortunately for the professor, Weasley's curse along with his own struck true, knocking him off his feet and hitting him with the basic body bind. _Lucky Wea-_

His thoughts were interrupted as Longbottom shouted, his robes being tugged by the silenced girl.

"What!" he shouted, Granger pointing down the stairs, but not for his benefit. McGonagall and a witch who looked to be a Hufflepuff Prefect were at the bottom of the stairs with an entire crowd of students and teachers looking on in shock.

"That's quite enough out of you, Mr. Longbottom," the Deputy Headmistress started. _Could Alecto have changed disguises this suddenly? We can't be sure that isn't the real McGonagall._

"Wait, when did you get here? Quirrell blinded-" the Transfiguration teacher hit him with an expert silencer, which he failed to deflect. _How do they communicate? Floo?_ He had some awareness that the Ravenclaw was kneeling down next to his loyal Hufflepuff, who seemed to be struggling to make sense of his current predicament.

"As for you two, I should hardly think you need me to say this is the last straw," McGonagall said as she hexed Weasley which he deflected. Draco doubted he could do the same with Alecto's wand; for some reason it felt unresponsive.

"Malfoy!" he shouted amid the chaos of the students getting involved. "It's not getting any worse for us-"

"Run for it," Draco assented, sprinting up the stairs after him, deflecting spells from students and teachers alike. He reached down to grab Quirrell's wand as he ran, the Gryffindor's shouts of protest distant in his mind.

 _We've really done it now._


	22. Ron on the Run

"I can't stand the idea of leaving Hermione and Neville behind," Ron muttered as the two of them entered the second floor girls' toilet, which was easy enough to find, even without their mutual friend's help.

"They'll get out- probably on indefinite detention. They both have clean records," Malfoy explained as he looked through the stalls, checking for interlopers. "If they're smart- and Granger is, they'll just blame everything on us." It was not a significant worry if he found someone, the two of them were already past the point of casting a sleep assist and a body-bind curse no matter who it was.

"They're not Slytherins, Malfoy. Chances are, they'll tell the truth." Ron cast the light charm down a floor drain in the unlikely event someone had shrunk Quirrell and tossed him down there.

"So much the worse for them. At least neither of their Houses is known for vainly proving themselves, only getting into further trouble. Quirrell's an older bloke from the Ministry- all I could get out of Alecto."

"What the bloody Hell's gotten into these Ministry employees anyway?" Ron asked, tapping the pipes with his wand. "Dad doesn't always have good things to say about the bunch-"

"It's the Department of Mysteries- nothing they do is recorded, not here, not in the dark basement where they work, not in foreign countries. My father opines that the amount of power they have is a bad combination with the amount of accountability they have."

"I thought they didn't have a lot of-" the red-haired wizard started, looking at Malfoy as he smirked. "Whatever. Have you seen anything?" he asked, scowling.

"No. Quirrell would have known this washroom to be underused-"

"Underused? Why?" Ron interrupted as a ghostly head stuck out of an exposed pipe he was tapping.

"Would you be so kind as to _keep it down?!_ " a shrill voice asked. _I reckon that about explains it._ The head resembled that of an older girl, fourth year or thereabouts. "There aren't supposed to be _boys_ in here! You're supposed to be in the other one!"

"Yeah, well you're dead, so you're supposed to be resting- quietly," Ron argued.

"As I was saying before being _interrupted-_ Quirrell would have known this particular facility to be underused, but he wouldn't have just left the real Quirrell out in the open." Malfoy supposed.

"I'd like to be resting-" the ghost girl started, completely disregarding the other boy. "-but I was murdered, right here in this room. I swore I'd haunt Olive Hornby for eternity for forcing me in here- but then she left Hogwarts." _Living people tend to do that._ Ron decided not to voice his thoughts.

"You've been in here ever since?" the Slytherin asked.

"Of course. I've been trying to get people to talk to me, but most of them just run away screaming. I've had to come up with more- creative ways of starting a conversation." Deciding not to wonder what those entailed, Ron allowed Malfoy to press the point he had started.

"So in your vast experience, you wouldn't happen to have seen an adult wizard in here? I can only imagine it must be _so lonely_ that even-" It took all of the Gryffindor's willpower not to at least snigger.

"There were two, as a matter of fact. An older gentleman and a strange wizard in a turban- of all things." Mr. Weasley might have wondered what kind of prejudices the ghosts of Hogwarts were teaching to children, but he was not here. "They seemed to be fighting- and then there was a green flash." Ron looked back at Malfoy's face, seeing he had the same expression, though it quickly shifted to the more appropriate stiff upper lip.

"What did he do with the remains?" inquired the Slytherin. "We could ensure you have company here- or of course, we could ensure otherwise." _Is he talking about necromancy?_

"When I saw the flash, I hid, but there were pipes moving around, from what I could hear," she explained, concluding her business with them.

"Now what do we do? How do you even seal someone up in pipes?"

"There must be some spell for it," Malfoy decided. "You know an explosive spell, right?" He nodded. "I'll stand behind the door and knock out anyone who comes in- I know a sleep spell, and so do Crabbe and Goyle."

" _Confringo!"_ Ron cast, pointing at a dull pipe in the center column, which looked large enough by his estimation. "What do they have to do with this?" he asked before blasting a hole in the other end, dissatisfied with the destructive force of the early year spell.

"They're how we get a message to Granger and Longbottom- get them out, in the worst case scenario. Even they would have thought of it."

" _Confringo!_ I don't trust them," he protested, creating a sizable hole. _It's not like I can get into worse trouble._

"I don't trust you," the blonde wizard countered, securely away from the blast radius. "They can take care of something this simple. I'd be more worried about the Hufflepuffs, if I were you." Ron racked his memories, but the most he could figure was off about them was the Prefect Hermione and Neville had mentioned. There seemed to be a larger pipe hidden behind the others in the central column from what he could see with the light charm.

"Is it the Prefect?" he asked finally, trying to get a better angle.

"She may have started something- I don't know all the details; Longbottom doesn't think it's worth my time." There was a draft coming up that made him cough. "It's something they're trying to keep secret, so far."

"I found something," he muttered as he tried to gauge how far down the hole went. This was no true pipe, it was akin to the secret passageways Fred and George had mentioned, though in little enough detail. _Wouldn't be secret if they gave it out to ickle Ronniekins, I imagine._ "Can't see down here."

"Looks like you'll have to go down then," Malfoy suggested. "Worry not, I'll find the others."

"D'you think I'm stupid- there's no way back up!"

"It's a sacrifice I'm willing to make."

Ron glared at him for a moment, trying to shine the light charm further down the hole.

"For all I know, it's a bottomless pit. Either way, it's a perfect place to drop a body, really." He sighed. "For Quirrell to know about it, he must have been the Fred and George of his day."

"We might be able to drop a wand down there- I've got a spare off Alecto."

"D'you reckon you could keep the light charm going?" Ron asked. "Usually spells stop when the wand leaves your hand."

Wordlessly deciding he might as well check with a raise of the eyebrows, Malfoy took out the wand he had seen him take off of the petrified Quirrell. Getting a weak light out of the other, he dropped it, watching the light go out as it hit the tiled floor. He picked it up and lit it again.

"Try levitating it."

" _Wingardium Leviosa._ " The wand levitated out of his hand, an off-white light coming out of the tip. Levitating it slowly down the hole in the central column as he craned his neck in to see, Ron tapped his foot, tempted to blast another hole. "There's a body down here alright."

"Quirrell?"

"No, it's the old man. Quirrell's not really an Inspector, but the rest of them wouldn't have puzzled it out. As I heard it, they only met occasionally and then it was strictly professional. Alecto didn't know this old fart, probably never knew the difference." _It's what Hermione guessed, I suppose. If it's not too weird of a thing for someone to be someone else in disguise, it's the perfect time to invade._

"Who's Quirrell, then? A dark wizard? We thought he was an Inspector from his diary."

"It's a bit more complicated than dark wizards and dark magic, you ignoramus," Malfoy contested, seeming offended. "Something looks a little too powerful or too complicated for the rabble and they call it _dark_. What does it even mean?"

"My parents fought a war against dark wizards, whatever they are," Ron countered. "They killed good people, like the Potter family. My father never told me, but they had an infant son." He spoke with a seriousness he had not expected of himself.

"It appears I was mistaken. I had thought, whatever your faults, at least you would follow rules of your own choosing-"

"Well- some of the rules I follow don't allow killing babies."

"That was one dark wizard- and he didn't have to use dark magic to do it, for all it matters-" The opening of a door interrupted their argument. _This is what we get when you step away from the door-_ Contrary to his expectations, the interloper was not a girl.

"Dean," he said simply. "What are you doing here?" _Can't be sure he's not an Inspector- as little as I like it, it'd be a perfect way of covering up the death of a student._

"I heard explosions, Ron," the other Gryffindor explained reasonably as his dark eyes surveyed the damages.

"Well, look down here- there's a body down here and it'd be better if someone else saw it," he turned to Malfoy. "Light up the wand again and show him."

Dean raised a hand. "There's no need. You hardly have a reason to lie here."

"Can you do us a favor and get Crabbe and Goyle to come here?" Malfoy asked. "I hope you see the truth about the situation before us." _Does he talk that way with everyone who has something over him?_

"I don't see why not," the boy at the door said simply before leaving.

"Oh, there's nothing off about him, is there, Weasley? Normal Gryffindor behavior?"

"Oh, come off it- you'd be different too if you died and came back. Not that you're terribly normal now." An idea came to him. "What would the other Inspectors do if they knew about the body? Quirrell killed one of their own."

"That would be the worst case scenario. Chances are, they kill him while his back is turned, then burn both bodies. When they get back to the Department, they just say there was an incident and they handled it. We'd still be expelled- the truth would go from something no one knows yet to a carefully guarded secret." _I need to get a friend who knows the Ministry at some point._

"Okay, say we get this to Dumbledore."

"Not better. He's not all he's cracked up to be," Malfoy started, trying in vain to lift the corpse with his wand. "Riddle me this- two deaths so far and what's he done about it?"

"He's been busy keeping them out of our heads."

The Slytherin dusted himself off. "Fine. We have to tell someone; it might as well be someone powerful. What's your plan? 'Hi there, Headmaster, we found a body of a man we swear we didn't kill, but we're pretty sure belonged to an Inspector. We have this from one we captured, but then let slip.' Who says we'll even get the same story out of the ghost again?"

Thinking on it, Ron decided it was really only his intention to tell Dumbledore out of a debt to Hermione.

"What are you suggesting?" he asked, having a good idea already.

"Quirrell's here for the Stone- all we need to do is get there first."

"What will that get us? If we can get it, why can't he?" he asked. _He's really powerful from what Hermione said._

"It'll get it out of his way- right now he thinks he knows where to look for it. We don't know that he can't get it, only that he hasn't gotten it yet- it's possible there are other things he needs to do here," Malfoy explained carefully. "We'll need Granger and Longbottom for this. We don't know what's ahead of us after the beast."

"I just thought of something. You have Quirrell's wand, can't they use that to prove he cast a killing curse recently? Hermione was saying something about that."

"It's possible," Malfoy conceded grudgingly. _If he's backing down on anything, we really are in danger here._ "Again, we have to get it to Dumbledore himself, and not some impostor. "Of course, that's where they expect us to go, so one of the Inspectors is probably putting on frilly robes as we speak."

"What are you suggesting? Go to someone else?" Ron asked, frowning. _His robes aren't that frilly_.

"Professor Snape can-"

"Oh, come off it, you're handing him a chance to expel me."

"Let me finish," Malfoy countered, not bothering to deny it. "He knows about the Stone and how it's protected- he told me himself. If I present my case to him, he can present it to Dumbledore. With this wand- we have proof Quirrell killed a man and that'll be enough to be rid of him. He's also skilled in Legilimency- he can tell if we're not impostors and he can pick out the right Headmaster, should more than one appear."

"We'll get it to him through Crabbe and Goyle, then," Ron decided. _I don't like working with this git. I don't like him._ "You can be here for him to find. I'll be going after Hermione and Neville." _Can't be around when Snape shows up. It'll be better for- everyone._

"By all means, get yourself caught," the Slytherin suggested, smirking. The Gryffindor returned the expression in kind as he cast the color change spell on his hair and robes, wondering if any set had ever seen this much abuse. He had already darkened it to counteract the faded color. With the trim on his robes a canary yellow and his hair a dirty blond, as believably as he could manage, he left the bathroom mirror.

"I already used green for a disguise once," he explained. _Lucky Hermione showed me how to do it for future reference._

"Yes, yes, I get it. You think they're really not going to see through that, though? It's got to be the easiest way of disguising yourself-" Ron removed a familiar potion from inside his robes and downed it quickly. "Merlin, Weasley, your sub-par performance in Potions is going to kill you rather than help you one day," Malfoy commented as he watched his mortal enemy grow. "Of course, I promise to be none too disappointed."

"Noted." Ron left without another word. He might have liked to come up with a retort, but Neville and Hermione were where the Inspectors could get to them and he could hardly leave them to Crabbe and Goyle, if that was even still the plan. _At least I can use the code word and they'll recognize me. Never thought I'd be the one in disguise._

He did his best to walk with a quiet confidence, remembering that the word he would use with the Ravenclaw was toad. In the hallway he ran into Percy talking to three Hufflepuffs. One of them might have been Susan Bones, but he hardly remembered.

"You're late for supper."

"You're not my Prefect," he countered without thinking. _It's too much to adopt an entirely new personality. Reckon it would really only make it look more fake at this point._ Ron walked past his brother, who was known for 'picking his battles', but the Hufflepuffs followed him. _Bloody Hell- next time I need to go with blue trim for the robes._ Keeping his pace, he guessed his friends were being held in the dungeons, where it made the most sense. _Of course, the one place I can't go is the grounds- can't risk anyone getting my footprint._ For the past few weeks he had been painstakingly reminding himself to go around the grass in the courtyard, where he normally cut across.

Going down the moving stair, it seemed their variations did not favor him. All at once he wished he knew a spell to stop the stair in its invisible tracks, but it was difficult to regret not learning a spell he only just now needed. As he looked back, he was certain they knew he was aware he was being followed. _Can't pull off playing dumb- have to run for it- or curse them._

" _Petrificus!_ " he cast, knocking the one in the front down to trip the others. _What I'm doing- I can't risk being followed. One of them might be an Inspector._ At the lower level, he took a few turns around some corridors, losing whatever pursuers he might have had. _Anyone who finds them is going to know I did it- always using the same spell, what am I thinking?_ Unlocking a classroom door and entering, he found himself in the Potions room. _I can't hide anywhere- not even the Forbidden Forest._

All at once it occurred to him that if someone could use the footprint charm on his prints outside, he could use it to find out who was collecting the unicorn blood, but he waved off the notion. _Could've done it on a broomstick._

 _Or it could have been someone who knew how to get into the school without being sniffed by Fang._

The door of the classroom opened again, the Hufflepuff Prefect standing on the other side of the threshold.


	23. Hermione's Hardship

The Headmaster's office, teeming that it was with odd trinkets and apparently valuable possessions of Professor Dumbledore, was empty except for the two of them.

Tied back to back with a binding conjuration, Neville and she had been questioned extensively, enough that the former had forgotten some of his answers to previous questions and incurred suspicion upon himself, though she was forbidden to help him. At the moment he was quietly sobbing and muttering to himself indistinguishably.

Hours ago, the Headmaster briefly released his embargo on the mind arts to confirm by Legilimency that Professor Flitwick, Professor Sprout, and Professor Snape were all who they claimed to be and suitable for interrogating the captured students. Professor McGonagall would continue to search for 'the escapees' and report back for a scan when she found one or both of them. An hour into the questioning, by Hermione's approximation, the Potions instructor received word that he had an urgent matter to discuss with a student, and would happily cease tormenting Longbottom.

"Where d-do you think Snape is?" the boy asked at last.

"It could be anything, but I think Draco is trying to get us out." _Of course, he might simply be trying to get the Stone, now that we're providing a distraction._

"Do you think we're going to Azkaban?"

"Probably not. They know we're not Inspectors after all those questions, but attacking a teacher is only going to get us a step away from being expelled." _The only reason we're not out the door already is because we're first years._ "We'll be let out to go to our classes again soon." By her estimation it was dark outside already, and she was feeling having missed supper for the interrogation.

Hermione hated the idea of being expelled from Hogwarts and having her wand snapped, as there was so much to learn, and she was not actually in the wrong, but at the same time a traitorous thought told her it would be a weight off her shoulders. She had been doing well enough in the normal world, she had no need for magic, and if anything, the existence of the wizarding world had only caused problems for her. From what she read in History of Magic, the subject she had expected would be her favorite, these problems would only continue. She felt awful about the idea of Quirrell and the rest getting away with their crimes, but it seemed a silly notion to her that her expulsion would have that as a direct result, as it was hardly her responsibility to round up powerful dark wizards and send them to Azkaban.

Neville interrupted her thought process.

"Hermione, what about Quirrell and the Stone?"

"I can only imagine he's going to go after it soon," she started, thinking on it. "Everyone who knows the truth is in this room or hiding, probably outside the castle's wards on a broomstick -well, separate broomsticks." It was odd to imagine that out of any combination of them, whatever hope they had of stopping Quirrell would come down to Draco and Ron. "I don't think Professors Sprout and Flitwick believed us; it's just too outlandish. Neither of them like the Inspectors, but nothing they've done has been reported in the past." The Heads of their Houses had told them there was no reason to suspect the Inspectors knew about the Philosopher's Stone being at Hogwarts, and it was quite safe where it was. Even though she told them that Quirrell would know about it and he was working with them, there was no proof of that.

"What are we going to do?" her co-conspirator asked.

"I don't know," Hermione responded honestly, not knowing what he expected. As silence followed she wondered if Neville had taken her for some kind of idea generator. "I'm sorry." she said after the pause. "I can't be expected to ... just fix everything."

"It's alright," Neville started. "I shouldn't expect it of you. I should expect more of me. I just can't because I'm always disappointed." He had stopped crying, but she was not sure this was what she preferred. "We'll have to get out of here somehow, but I don't think it'll be better if we escape. We'll just be running like Ron and Silver." He straightened. "We'll have to lie. We'll have to tell them we made it all up. It's the only way to get out of here, and it's the only way to stop Quirrell."

"I owe you an apology, children." The voice came from nowhere, but it was unmistakable.

"Professor Dumbledore, have- have you been listening to us?"

"Yes, and for that I owe you an apology. Your investigation was well-merited, by contrast." The ancient wizard came from nowhere like his voice, and it was something Hermione found herself unable to explain. _Potion effects wear off gradually- I don't believe I heard him cancel any charm._ From what she could see, he did not even have his wand out. "I am sure you know all too well why I must remain at my lonely post, using the same Legilimency I endeavor to prevent, watching and listening for other practitioners of the mind arts." He waved his wand and the binds were gone. She decided she would have to learn the binding spell at some point. "I regret that I cannot help you."

"That's okay, sir," Neville insisted. "I'd have no idea how to stop a mind-invasion-thing, so it's better we leave you to it." He rose to get closer to meeting the old man's eyes. "I don't think you're not doing anything." Hermione thought it was a lukewarm comment, but Professor Dumbledore smiled briefly.

"Miss Granger, if it is of a modicum of assurance, I believe you about Professor Quirrell, though as of yet there is no way to prove most of your claims. With Mr. Longbottom you spoke of a dairy he retrieved from your possession, and I have no doubt it has been destroyed already. I do not believe in using Legilimency as a method of interrogation, and I have every expectation that if he has used his wand for iniquity, he has already cast a multitude of harmless spells to disguise it."

Hermione could hardly help it when the words of Ebony, the Hufflepuff Prefect came creeping back into her mind. She shook her head.

"Professor, if you could just call them off Ron and Draco, we could explain to you what was going on." She bit her lip a moment, turning her head to look around. "Draco says he can get to the Stone if necessary. I don't know why Quirrell wants it-"

"I believe I do, but it is no matter. I shall contact my friend Nicolas Flamel on the Stone, and most likely it will be destroyed. For your concerns, I do not believe Quirinus can obtain it; it is simply not in his nature to pass the final test. Try as he might, the most probable result will be that the Stone will be lost forever." Dumbledore returned to his desk. "The school is not in danger. The Stone is not in danger."

"Professor, we might be in danger," Neville protested weakly. "Where is Quirrell?"

"Quirinus has already recovered from the injuries he suffered during your scuffle. It would be remiss not to mention that the official story is that the four of you were reported as suspicious persons to him, and when he apprehended you, Misters Weasley and Malfoy led you in violently resisting. I know that you and your friends are innocent, but it is a rare thing indeed that the word of four children will count against the word of an adult wizard." He gestured toward the exit. "The word for the gargoyle is 'lemon drop', though I expect I'll have to change it again. I imagine if I remain Headmaster for another five years, I may just run out of sweets."

Hermione did her best to keep the confused expression from reaching her face. _He's been using sweets this whole time? How long has he been Headmaster again?_

"Thank you, Professor," she said simply, noticing Professor Snape as the two of them left the office. It was a wonderful thing to regain her freedom, even if only for a time, and she decided she would enjoy being able to breathe the outside air whenever she was allowed out on the grounds again. Already the days were warming and lengthening, the end of the term around the corner.

"So now we're in detention?" Neville asked.

"I believe so. Unless I'm mistaken, the four of us have broken more rules and gotten ourselves into more trouble than the rest of the school combined," she estimated, thinking of Ron's idea of a rule-obedience contest for her to win. Another day, the thought might have distracted her enough to make her smile.

"What do we- How do we stop Quirrell now?" he asked, perhaps trying for a more helpful question.

"Draco has his wand, I think, but Professor Dumbledore says it won't do any good." The Ravenclaw took a moment to stare out an open window. "I wouldn't count it out just yet, though, since that blindness curse he cast on you might have been dark." None of the teachers on the scene knew an appropriate counter-curse and it had ended up taking hours to reverse.

"Okay, how do we find them?"

"Draco knows more about their end of things than we do.," Hermione explained as she made her way to Ravenclaw Tower before stopping. "He'll know what to do with the wand. There's something else, though."

"What?"

"We need a hideout. We can't go back to our dorms alone, we need some place we can go to sleep where we can watch out for each other."

"Hagrid's house?"

"We can't go out on the grounds." _I can't imagine he would be entirely supportive of that arrangement._

"Well, maybe that room where they kept you. I don't think it'd be very comfortable."

"They'd find us; Quirrell knows about it."

"Okay, what about a broom closet? The one where we kept Alectoid was pretty big."

"For the record, that was not always a broom closet, it was originally a storage room for cauldrons. I read about it in _Hogwarts, A History_."

"Wait they had that in there?!" Neville interrupted loudly. "How often do they add things? Do they know about me? Do they know about that time I fell off a broom? I hope Gran doesn't find out."

"The point is that _Alecto_ knows about it," Hermione added pointedly. "It'll be the first place she'll look."

"Okay, well that's a relief anyway. For a moment there I was imagining having to sleep that close to you. That would have been really weird." _Yes, I imagine so, and how do you think I would have felt?_

"Well... I don't know any good hiding places, Hermione. If I did I don't remember," the wizard admitted, looking at something from his pocket for some reason. "Do you?"

"No," she responded curtly, still annoyed. "I suppose we could find a room only one person ever enters. Then I would have to set aside a few days to learning the memory charm. Do you suppose you could wake me up in the event we needed to charm someone? Knock him out first, of course." she asked, half joking, annoyed at what she expected of herself.

"I'm not sure I'd remember unless I got to doing it regularly," Neville answered honestly, having thought about it a moment. "At least only Quirrell might go into that room with the beast in it."

The witch's eyes widened.

"Neville, you're brilliant."

"I'm sorry, what?" he asked. _If Draco's really going to kill that thing, we can use the room as a trap for Quirrell- he's expecting the beast, but he won't expect four curses from behind the door._ It did not sit well with her that they were killing an animal for no reason other than that it was in the way, but the Malfoy heir seemed to mind less. He had assured her one day in Defense that the poison was a quick one, even on a large animal. His plan was to levitate it out in front of him and let the unsuspecting beast run into it with its gaping maw. _We'd be better off using the body-bind curse eleven or twelve times._ From the troll they were more than familiar with the resistance magical creatures had to spellwork, but any monster would be brought down with enough hits. The four of them had proven they could beat Quirrell if they worked together- wands seemed to work like single-shot pistols in cinema. There was room to be better or worse at it, but numbers would win every time.

As Neville led them down the corridor to the stairs, the same confused expression on his face, one of Draco's associates met them.

"Goyle?" she guessed.

"I was meant to retrieve you. Professor Snape sent me away." _He probably figured that Goyle looking like he had a job to do meant you could get him to lead you back to Draco. If he's clever, he's already moved from where he gave the order to Crabbe and Goyle._ "Crabbe went with him," he finished.

"Went where?" _I'm sure he won't feel too patronized if I keep my sentences short._

"Not sure. They just went."

"In that case, come with us." _He would hardly tell Goyle where he was going with Ron and Crabbe. Quirrell could get it out of him if need be._ Reaching the Third Floor Corridor, as it had come to be known, she cast a light charm in both directions down the corridor to look for disturbances.

"What's the unlocking spell again?"

" _Alohamora_ , Standard Book of Spells, chapter seven," she explained before he unlocked it on the second try. For some reason he was better at curses than charms, which probably explained his poor performance in Transfiguration. Out of the corner of her eye, she might have caught Goyle in a giggle. "What?"

"Malfoy said you were... well-read," he explained, the ghost of a smile on his face. _That was almost a touch of subtlety there. I suppose you're in Slytherin not for nothing._ Hermione kept her annoyance from distracting her as they entered the room, finding the beast motionless on the floor. It was a great dog with three heads, much like Cerberus from Greek mythology. _Of course- the Forbidden Forest has unicorns; I might have guessed this is the sort of thing Hagrid would bring back on holiday in Greece._

"Is it... dead?" she asked, completely against the idea of approaching to find out. Niether of the others was a Gryffindor, but Goyle proved himself somewhat less fearful than Neville as he walked forward. _Where's Ron? Is he with Draco still? If they're not in here-_

"No," the large boy said as he walked back over, without having touched it.

"Well, how do you know?" the other boy challenged.

"I can hear its heartbeat. It's alive," he elaborated. "There's a trap door next to it."

"What?" Neville suddenly seemed bold enough to take a look, despite having just recently learned that _that thing was alive._ Hermione was momentarily content to observe at a reasonable distance. The trap door was exactly what she expected, a large, wooden door that she imagined the beast was supposed to be guarding. "What's under there?"

"I presume the next challenge. Are you proposing we see what it is?"

"Yeah, I guess so," the Longbottom answered. "We can't stay up here with this dog thing. It'll wake up and eat us." Lifting the door with some difficulty, he let Goyle pass him by.

"Perhaps I was unclear," Hermione offered, even more annoyed. "Are you mad?"

"I don't think so. I promised Gran I wouldn't be." He looked down the hole after his odd new acquaintance. "See anything?"

"Not really. There's this huge plant thing- wait-"

"That's Devil's Snare!" Neville shouted down at him, still holding the door open as though Hermione had any intention of passing through it.

"Don't shout!" she whispered angrily as he cast a glance at the three headed dog, whose massive legs twitched like he was running in a dream. _They can't really keep a dog like that in here- can they?_ Walking forward rather than allow the plant to kill Goyle because he did not know a fire spell or the beast to kill Neville because he could hardly be bothered to _keep his voice down_ , she cast the flame charm down the hole, nearly singing the struggling boy.

"Hermione, you were caught by that thing once," the boy holding the door reminded. She ran a hand across her eyes, strained from lack of sleep.

"I was, no thanks to you. Where is Silver now, I wonder?" Going down the hole rather than be eaten along with Neville, she cast the flame charm from a proper distance, repelling the plant momentarily. "We have to sleep," she said simply as a disheveled wizard picked himself from the floor.

"With this thing?" _I suppose I'm going to have to kill it unless I want to try my luck with the next room._

Lying alone on a crispy husk of plant with ashes in her hair, sleep was ignoring her reasonable requests as stubbornly as the broom had on the first day of Flying class, her mind adrift with theories and speculations about the trials that they had faced and those that lay still beyond.


	24. Underground Chambers

The three of them were still sitting together at breakfast the following morning, where Hermione was doing her best to ignore them while learning a hair cleaning spell from an older girl.

"It's a poor man's shower, but it'll do the trick most days," she had said. It seemed to work well enough on the ashes in the younger Ravenclaw's hair and the other nodded with a smile and disappeared.

"It's only so we don't look suspicious," Hermione explained quickly.

"I wasn't questioning it," Neville protested. They ate mostly in silence before going to class, and he noted Ron's absence. _It really leaves a hole. I wonder where he is right now?_

Though he possessed no idea where his friends were hiding and was unlikely to figure it out during History of Magic or any other class, he imagined they were hidden well enough to where they would not be caught, as there had been no announcement. For a horrible moment he wondered if Quirrell had simply tossed their bodies in the lake, but that was too terrible to be real. Using his father's wand in Charms when he got around to the class, he thought of his parents and how they would have wanted him to be brave. The Longbottom heir decided he was glad his grandmother had given it to him as his wand, even though they could have just as easily bought one. _Now I just have to figure out how to get it work in Transfiguration._ He had promised her that he would not fail that subject in particular.

Sitting down later on to write a letter back home, not having done so in over a week and not wanting a howler, he wrote about the usual tedium of classes. He remembered to thank his grandmother again for the Remembrall, one of his most prized possessions and managing to be useful in spite of what other people thought. Seeing the smoke inside go red, he decided he'd forgotten to mention how his life was in danger, but that was better off left out.

He had promised his grandmother that he would not worry her sick.

Meeting back up with Hermione and Goyle rather than take more time alone, he took the long way against his better judgement to stare out the occasional window. The weather had started to warm to his liking and he longed to fly.

"There you are, Longbottom," Silver's associate announced upon seeing him. The three of them were meeting in the library, which the witch had suggested as if it were the most obvious thing in the world. Neville imagined if Ron had been there, he would have said something along the lines of 'When Quirrell or a Death Eater or anyone else wants to kill you, this is the first place they'll look'. He smiled, knowing he was not nearly clever enough to think of something like that. While Hermione was sitting there reading a book, twirling her wand around in her hand, catching it with a death grip every few seconds, he took the chance to speak to Goyle.

Ordinarily, he only talked to the boy through their mutual friend, and very little at that, and yet here he was, perhaps on orders, but here all the same.

"What's going on?" he asked as a general question.

"Your friend called me over a few minutes ago. She asked me about breaking into that room." Neville remembered the to-do over at the Slytherin table where Goyle was being apprehended for an unprecedented offense. "I said I couldn't get past the lock. I tried to burn through it with sparks. Quirrell asked me if I'd been there before. I lied. Might have been expelled if I hadn't." The Longbottom heir shifted uncomfortably. He had not _intended_ to judge the boy as goodly or wicked.

"Why didn't he take you to Dumbledore right away?" he asked.

"I suppose we know now," Goyle answered after a few moments of thought. "I'd have been caught there once. If they got it out of Ron, he'd have been caught there once. Quirrell would have been caught there twice." Hermione looked over for a moment, then back at the book. He could have sworn the text was in French when he looked over.

"Hermione, on the train-"

"Have you seen a toad?" she asked in an off voice. "A boy named Neville lost one."

"I'm sorry. I just didn't realize you could read that," he explained timidly. Checking his Remembrall, he had not forgotten any time where she told him French was in her repertoire.

"I understand," the girl groaned. For a moment he was about to ask what was wrong with her, but it looked like she had something to say. "French Alchemist Nicolas Flamel, creator of the Philosopher's Stone..." she muttered. _She can't read it, not really she's just skimming through looking for things she can use._ "Mysterious bas-" she sighed loudly. Neville wondered how much of the red in her eyes was due to lack of sleep, and how much was due to reading all the relevant material she could find. _Merlin, she's down to books she can't even read._

"Hermione," he started, placing a hand on her shoulder and trying to keep his voice from shaking. "We can't just keep reading- you can't just keep reading. We have to find Ron and Silver."

"Wherever they are, they're safer there than with us. If a teacher sees either one of them, he will be obligated to give chase," she explained, rubbing her eyes as she allowed Goyle to put the book away.

"How do you know that? Quirrell might already have them!" he argued in a loud whisper, struggling to keep his voice down.

"Do you want to search his office _again_ , Neville? I know you've been in there. So does Quirrell- and if you honestly think he hasn't laid wards down so thick you can't breathe in there, go right ahead." She rose. "I won't be at all surprised." She went on to explain that they would have no chance were they to simply attack him head on in a manner that he would expect. They knew he was going to be back for the Philosopher's Stone, and they could ambush him there.

"Hermione, why are you so upset?" he asked directly.

"Why indeed," she responded as she walked off into the Restricted Section, not bothering to look over her shoulder. Neville turned to Goyle.

"Crabbe might still be with Ron and -Malfoy," he appealed. "We have to go after them- maybe we can help them with something they're trying to do. You can still move about freely."

"I don't know where they are."

"Then I guess we go to the last place you saw them," Neville suggested. _Good thing we're going back to where he saw them and not the other way around._ They walked out of the library.

"Malfoy told us he and Weasley found a body. He thinks it's an Inspector Quirrell killed and replaced. They sent Dean for us. They sent us for Professor Snape," Goyle explained as they were walking.

"Why not just send Dean for-"

"Malfoy likes to keep an eye on things. He sent me for you and the Granger girl. Crabbe was to go back to him."

"Where were they going?"

"They didn't tell me. Weasley was gone by the time Dean took us most of the way to the toilet." _Hiding out in a bathroom? I guess it's not a terrible idea._

"Where did he go?"

"I don't know. I thought he'd gone after you," Goyle answered, not helping. They reached the bathroom a few moments later. Checking his Remembrall, he knew he was forgetting something again, though it was hard to imagine what. "He's no friend of mine," he muttered as he looked around quickly before opening the bathroom door. "That's odd." The last Longbottom followed him in to see what was odd. To him it looked like a normal bathroom with a central pillar, sinks all around. _No urinals of course. It just had to be a girls' toilet._

"What's odd?"

"This column was broken, last I saw it."

"Does the castle repair itself?" Suddenly they wished they had brought Hermione with them, but she was in a foul mood.

"Not generally. Crabbe and I broke the lock off Filch's broom closet. It hasn't come back. It's not as if he can fix it," Goyle said with a cruel grin. Neville ignored it, deciding the castle's caretaker was not the model of mercy himself.

"Could either of them have fixed it?"

"I don't think so," he muttered, giving the answer Neville had expected. "Maybe it was a teacher." His mind went to Quirrell.

"Quirrell?"

"They said Quirrell hid a body in here. Maybe he was covering it back up. Maybe Professor Snape did it- to keep Quirrell from putting it together."

"You know, you're cleverer than you think, Goyle," Neville said suddenly. "If it weren't for your House, Ron might have liked you." The other boy ignored the comment.

"There's nothing here."

"Let's go back, then. We can't leave Hermione alone."

"She's in a public place," Goyle countered, as if from personal experience. "No one will target her."

"Ernie might know something, I guess."

"Macmillan?" the Slytherin asked, feet shifting.

"That's the one. Hufflepuffs tell each other everything. I don't participate, not really. It made the Prefect suspicious of me, but that only made me suspicious of her."

"The Inspector?"

"See, I'm not sure," Neville said, unsure of whether he was revealing too much or not. He guessed Crabbe and Goyle had heard about the one moonlighting as a Hufflepuff Prefect from Silver, but they had probably not even met her. "She might be an impostor, she might not be. If she is, she's a convincing actress." In his mind he supposed part of that could be attributed to taking one disguise and sticking with it the whole year. He felt bad for the real Prefect, whatever her real name was, considering how much of her life she was missing. "I guess if we talk to her close friends, we can ask if there's been any change in her behavior."

As they walked to Hufflepuff Basement, which was reputable for welcoming invited guests from other Houses, Neville wondered if Ebony had friends, close or distant, and what they meant to her. As unsure as he was about where he stood with Ernie, or where he even wanted to stand with him, it seemed the notion of friendship had been confused into a virtue, something you were supposed to do all the time, like telling the truth.

Macmillan was sitting in the common area alone.

"Hiya Neville. Who's your friend?" _He's not quite my friend._

"Gregory," the not-friend answered for him. "We haven't met," he muttered, keeping his voice low.

"Ernie, we were going to ask you if you knew anything about Ron. Has anyone seen him recently?" The small boy stared back with a smile.

"Ebony has him. He's wanted by the teachers. You know, I'm not sure we haven't met," he started, turning to Goyle. "Do you think you could beat me to a pulp?"

"What kind of question is that?" Neville asked, his voice filled with panic. He turned to look at the Slytherin with a wide stare.

"Maybe. Doesn't mean I did."

"Oh, no." Ernie chuckled for a moment. _Has he gone mad?_ "I suppose that it's not _proof_ , really, but we're not playing by the old rules anymore." All at once Hufflepuffs of all descriptions came down the stairs, wands drawn.

"Ernie, this is important- Ron's not guilty here- why is everyone jumping to conclusions?" He was openly panicking. The rest of his House was of a calmer disposition; there was no uncertainty at all. "I know he's wanted, but that only means-" he started, forcing the words through a lump in his throat.

"It means enough," a voice said. Though Neville whipped around to meet it, he still could not determine the origin.

"We're leaving," Goyle interjected, grabbing him by the arm. "He's late for a detention, anyway." _So that's what I was forgetting!_ The other boy forcefully led him out, touching his wand to an older boy who was in their way. The boy collapsed and Goyle forced Neville out the way they came in. "Run," he commanded calmly, starting on it himself. "Malfoy says there's nothing to be gained from situations like this."

"What? What do you know about-"

"Neville, they have Weasley on suspicion. They'll have us just as soon." Neville noticed the boy was more than capable of keeping a decent pace. "We're no closer to finding Malfoy." He reminded himself that Ron was not a controlling interest for Goyle.

"Where are we going?"

"We're going to the dungeons," came the answer, confirming his suspicions. "-Professor Snape's office. You say you forgot. I say I was with you."

"Why are you going so far for me?"

"Weasley and the Granger girl aren't going to work with me. Finding Malfoy is the top priority. He told us that in case he got lost."

They reached the dungeons after a few minutes of silence, Neville checking several times to make sure they had not been followed. It surprised him that Ebony had been able to win over his entire House, at least from what he could tell. To make matters worse, she had not even been in the room, or if she had, he missed her. _Hermione would probably say that's the price of House unity._ It was no secret that Ravenclaws openly argued and disagreed with each other, sometimes for the sole purpose of playing devil's advocate.

Snape's office was a dreary place filled with bottled potions lining the walls between the books and jars of ingredients.

"I am not interested in being the teacher representative for the Society of Overweight Henchmen," the Potions master muttered, not looking up from his papers. It did not escape Neville's notice that he was currently assigning a 'P' to an essay.

"That's alright sir, I was here for-"

"I did not monitor your detention because I have better things to do, Longbottom. I care not how many hours you spend trying not to burn yourself in my classroom." Neville thought that remark was somewhat unfair; the last time he nearly injured himself, it had been because he was holding the silver knife by the blade. It had been a full four weeks since he so much as _scalded_ himself with hot liquid, and longer still since he touched an open flame, if memory served.

"Sir, is it alright-"

"Do as you _wish_ , Long- In all my miserable years teaching here, I have never been tasked with watching as many students as in the past three months. I fail to understand why it falls to me, but I shall not allow that to stop me from responding with the least concern possible. Go away," he ordered without emphasis. Neville guessed Hermione had already been to his office, which was why she too was neglecting her detention, albeit in the library. It also probably explained Snape's annoyance. They left the office without further note.

"I thought Snape liked you," he said to Goyle as they were heading back to the library. _Enough trips around this bloody school and I'll be the thinnest henchman in over a-_

"Hardly," the other boy scoffed. "He helps me, but he doesn't like me. Probably thinks I'm a disgrace." From Ron, he had heard more than enough about how the students from different Houses were treated. "Slytherins are meant to be clever. We're meant to be ambitious."

"I think you're not that bad," Neville offered. "Might-"

"-compared to you," Goyle finished, interrupting.

"Well, I'm not the best Hufflepuff," he confessed, hoping it would make Silver's friend feel better. "You saw them."

"How do you know they're right?" the other boy asked after thinking about it.

They found the witch as expected, reading with a stack of books next to her. She did not react to their entrance, though Neville thought she noticed.

"We were looking for the others," he explained.

"Reasonable," Hermione evaluated curtly. "I need to read."

"What have you been reading?"

"I need to know how to use the Philosopher's Stone. Draco's going to steal it, and it's the only advantage we have." _Using the Stone? That's meant to be highly advanced magic!_ "It's not as hard as making one," she explained, responding to his expression as she looked up. "From what I have been reading, it's the sort of thing that makes the impossible possible. If we're going to defeat Quirrell and the Inspectors, we'll need it. We have to assume Ron and Draco... aren't coming back." She sighed, showing a rare moment of distraction. "I'd like to think they did the smart thing and escaped, but I can't convince the rational part of my mind that it really makes any sense."

"Hermione, we'll help you. I don't know about all this stuff about Alchemy and the Stone, but we'll help you, any way we can." _We'll find Ron and Silver too._

"I'm sure," she responded, a modicum of weariness allowed into her voice.

The three of them went back to the Third Floor Corridor and the Underground Chambers as they were called, walking in silence with their minds weighed down by thoughts. Open concerns like Quirrell, inconsistencies like the ones that surrounded the conspiracy in Hufflepuff, minor loose ends in conversations; questions left unanswered swirled about in his skull.

Neville considered asking Goyle what he meant by 'How do you know they're right?', but decided he understood after a few moments of reflection, staring at the pile of ashes that was Devil's Snare.


	25. The Chamber Underground

Draco was cold and hungry in the dark.

At home, his mother was mostly in charge of the family's social arrangements, leaving the culinary duties to Dobby, but from time to time when she wanted, she would buy or conjure the ingredients to one of his or Father's favorite dishes and prepare it herself. Lord Malfoy enjoyed a variety of arrangements including veal tartar and escargot, Draco favoring cordon bleu and croquettes. Attempting to conjure even the simplest fare, he had been met with little success thus far.

He was perfectly aware he could ignite his wand and explore; at any point in the last day or so he would have settled for a rat, but the truth was the place scared him. It was perfectly unlike the Forbidden Forest, it was silent and empty as far as he knew, but the very idea of what lied beyond terrified him into stillness. Aiming a cutter into one of the pipes above him, he had at least managed a supply of drinkable water. In his shivering he had tried the flame charm he knew Granger had performed, but it seemed it was not as simple as most charms, as there was no incantation that he knew.

It had been only moments after Professor Snape left that Quirrell found them, appearing out of nowhere as if he had been invisible. _Why else would he be hanging around a girls' toilet- we were fools._ Crabbe was quickly disarmed and with a word, the central pillar opened, distracting him as what he now believed to be a banishing charm pushed him down the hole. He knew not whether he was more confused by the word itself or its effect on the room, as he had never heard of a spell of such a nature. _Quirrell's traveled around the world- has to know at least a half dozen spells in foreign tongues._ He knew from personal experience the Manor was protected by spells from the days of the French Malfoys.

The way his father had explained it, it was not as if the ancient magicks were just better all the time, but that they simply allowed their secrets to die with them, making more than a few old curses, enchantments, and wards essentially unbreakable to the modern wizard. New spells were invented, of course, but such was similarly not outside the abilities of the ancient mages. Draco could only wonder what magic had kept him from escaping his current prison. Try as he might, he could only break the pipes momentarily before they repaired themselves. _It must have been something Quirrell did- if he expects to keep me down here, he can hardly allow me to break out. He would have repaired the exterior from where Weasley reduced it to rubble._

He knew the primary reason, or at least one of them, for the Defense professor to come after him was his intention to find the Philosopher's Stone, but there was also the matter of his wand. Somehow Quirrell had taken possession of the wand he had stolen from Alecto, which was the one he used to light up the body next to him, though he only learned that from the fact that it was no longer down there with him. _I suppose he might know another way in here. That means there's another way out._

Forcing his pained body to rise, he ignited his wand as brightly as he dared. As near as he could figure, he was in a squat, circular room, and a tunnel-like structure led onward, though it might have been a pipe. In the dark, it was difficult to tell the difference between a tunnel and a large pipe. Keeping his wits about him as his sharpened hearing started to pick up a groaning sound, he did his best to skirt around it, looking for some other way out, but found the pipe in the next room was sealed by a grate. _I could try destroying it, but that would be loud and take time._ Pressing on took him closer to the sound, which came and went. His breathing was as silent as it had been for the countless hours before.

Coming out of a length of tunnel into a larger room, he discovered rather elaborate masonry sealing the corridor with a pair of intertwined snakes. As there was a line going down the wall behind them, he imagined there was some way of opening it, but it would be more elaborate than any secret switch hidden somewhere. In truth, he was not sure even Quirrell could enter.

Draco turned back.

He found a pipe that was covered by what looked to be years of unidentifiable overgrowth, something he might have missed had he not been looking for it. Improvising Weasley's blasting curse after deciding it was a quick death from whatever lurked down here or a slow death of starvation, he cleared a way and started out, moving as quickly as he could, given his lack of energy. _No one was going to come down and save me- not Father, not Dumbledore, none of my dubious new friends if I can call them that._

Surfacing out into a derelict well, bereft of water, he patiently and carefully scaled the cobbled walls, knowing any misstep could mean his death. As he reached a hand out of the well, jostling the stupid bucket above him, he had this odd notion of crawling out of his own grave. Standing at last, he momentarily considered returning to the castle for lunch, even if it meant immediate expulsion. _I could try my hand at the color-change spell- no, there's no way I'm masquerading as a Hufflepuff, not under any circumstances._ After some effort he turned his tie blue and changed his hair to a nondescript brown. Without any other identifying colors, he decided he was safer than he would be changing too much. Hunching his shoulders like a child trying not to draw attention to himself, he kept a reasonable pace, rather than the dignified, deliberate one he usually assumed along with a proud demeanor.

No one noticed as he entered the castle, though he supposed classes were going on. It was as if he was a stranger in his own home, waiting around for lunch to start, but really there was little else he could do. _Even as a first-year sitting with the older students, someone will see that I'm out of place as a Ravenclaw. These classes are too small for my liking._ As he went off in search of Professor Snape, hoping to find out what had happened with Dumbledore before lunch started, he thought back to how his father explained the decline of Hogwarts.

"Wizarding families like ours need to sire more young, Draco, but every factor one has to consider goes against it. Your mother and I are quite active in the realm of politics; to have more than one child would be to do you a disservice, as our ability to involve ourselves in your development is little enough as it is. On the other hand, those with no responsibilities- unemployed Muggles-" He almost spat the wine he was sipping as he spoke. "- are at liberty to have as many children as they wish. Worse, their government rewards them for it." He waved a hand. "I shall speak no more on nonmagical politics, your mind is yet young and you must learn to think on your own. All the same, there are things that you must know."

 _We are being forced off this island._ The words rang in his mind as they always did, his light footfalls taking him down the stationary stair. _As of nineteen hundred and ninety, Muggle technology turns to increasingly advanced and invasive forms of surveillance._ The Head of Slytherin House was speaking with a student and as such he waited outside. _We hide in our grand and stately manors, our castles, dour and dark, keeping our numbers down and our voices quiet._ He saw the student leave, a boy his size with dark hair.

"You may come in, Draco," came the drawl of the Potions professor.

"Sir- what happened? Where's Quirrell?"

"He has been missing. I presume he has been looking for you, throwing his identity to the wind."

"He's not really Quirrell, is he?" In truth this had long since become obvious, he, Longbottom, Granger, and Weasley only continued to refer to him by that name for lack of a better one. Additionally, they had no idea of the real Quirrell save what they knew from his diary.

"No. The Dark Lord is manipulating his every move." The idea nearly froze him in place. "He has been restricted, as the Headmaster has been keeping him from the mind arts and Hogwarts warding notifies him of dark magic, but he has been active as far as he dares, and he is a daring man indeed."

"Why is he looking for me?"

"You carry his wand- yew and phoenix feather. With or without prior enchantments, Dumbledore would recognize that wand; he already knows it has been used to wreak terrible works of dark magic. Does it respond to you?"

"I've been able to use it. I'd like mine back though; if I am not mistaken it remains in Alecto's possession. Does this mean everyone has been disabused Quirrell is a dark wizard?" Draco asked, stepping back into his usual speech pattern. _Of course Professor Snape would recognize me. He's my Head of House, and unless I am twice mistaken, he appreciates me._

"Interesting- three wands, all taken. How was yours taken from you?" _I'd really rather not say._

"T-trickery, sir. Alecto is quite exper-"

"You took the Dark Lord's wand by force. How did he take the beech wand from Alecto?"

"He stole it, sir. He must have. I did not see him," he answered honestly. "I don't know what he was doing in all the time he was without a wand." He remembered they had injured him somewhat, but healing would have taken little time. It was possible Quirrell- or the Dark Lord could- wandlessly Apparate, but he had some idea that Hogwarts warding would have prevented it. _I suppose he could have gotten around in the plumbing. He had to know something about that place underground anyway._

"Meet me at the Third Floor Corridor tonight. If all goes well, we can defeat the Dark Lord with the power of the Stone."

"Sir, Professor Dumbledore- this wand is all it would take-"

Professor Snape responded in possibly the least expected manner he could. He smirked.

"Malfoy, do you believe that Dumbledore is _necessary_ here? Do we need his help for one dark wizard? The Dark Lord Voldemort has already shown his hand as obviously as is within his abilities. Even a small child should be able to figure it out," he explained, still smiling. "Some say his daring has always been his weakness- there was the matter with the Potters, but if he fancies himself a great wizard, he would make things challenging for himself. If he is as ruthless as they say, he would dangle the final clue to the mystery just in front of his enemy's eyes, offering one last chance before it is too late." The Head of Slytherin House took a book from the shelf. "Alchemy is a highly esoteric art. You gain little from its study unless you commit centuries to it- for most, a cursory knowledge will suffice. The full use of the Stone, however, is something only a master could accomplish."

"Do you believe you could do it?"

"The first step is obtaining it in any event. I shall read in the amount of time we have."

Lunch was an ordinary affair to every other student in the room, and as such Draco did his best to contain his joy over wild perch and pumpkin juice.

At nightfall he surfaced from the broom closet where he had been hiding, meeting Professor Snape in the corridor on the way. He explained how he escaped from the strange corridor where Quirrell had trapped him to lighten the mood as he used the color-change charm to revert to his true appearance. He had needed to change the trim of his cloak to blue to be in the Great Hall, but as he was not wearing it he would simply have to turn it back later. There were no guards posted at the door and the teacher conjured a viola that set itself to a quiet folk tune as they went in, and Draco watched as the beast slumped forward.

"Is it asleep?" he asked as they calmly walked around it.

"The Gamekeeper would have needed some way of transporting it in here. The challenge I made is further along; it was not for me to know how to get past the others," came the short explanation. They found a trap door in the floor after carefully moving the beast, a great three-headed dog which had unfortunately fallen asleep on the portal. Moving it took time from his perspective, though he considered it was possible he was just excited. _I need to calm down- keep my head about me._

When at long last the pair of them made their way through the trap door, they were faced with an utterly empty room save a few ashes in the corner, which seemed to surprise Professor Snape.

"Has someone else been here, sir?"

"It was probably the Dark Lord. He would not think to use the plant again, he would simply burn it and cast it aside," the Head of Slytherin surmised.

"What plant?"

"Those ashes are all that remains of the Devil's Snare Professor Sprout used for her measure of security." Draco's expression likely warranted further explanation. "When we were gathered to develop obstacles to protect the Stone, our task was to come up with something that any one of us could bypass, without destroying it or reducing its effectiveness. For mine own part, I looked into the magic refilling the cups in the Great Hall, restoring each potion to full within a matter of hours after they are drunk."

"That one should present no challenge."

"In truth, none of them present a challenge. Quirrell's is a mountain troll. A killing curse will do the trick."

"Does that mean it's already dead?" Draco asked uncertainly. "I thought they were supposed-"

"Quirrell had no intention of allowing any of the professors past his obstacle. There is virtually no way of dealing with a fully grown mountain troll without killing it, which each professor knows not to do. The intention is to force an intruder into a dangerous battle he will likely not survive. Dumbledore could get past it, of course, which was enough for him to approve it, frowning slightly as he does." Though momentarily distracted by an astute assessment of the old wizard with twinkling blue eyes, a question occurred to him.

"Well, what are we doing here if Quirrell's already gotten past all the obstacles?" he asked. "If he has the Stone already, he should really only be going after Flamel."

"A reasonable question, Malfoy, but I doubt he could have passed my challenge. It is a puzzle of logic he cannot force to work for him, and if we are fortunate, he is already lying dead. After mine, Dumbledore's measure remains, and retrieving the Stone from there requires an innocent soul."

"An innocent soul?"

"One such as yours would suffice," Professor Snape explained. "The true nature of the obstacle eludes me, but he truly outdid himself with it. Only one wishing to find the Stone and not use it for his own gain may take it from where it hides."

"And yours, sir?" Draco asked, an odd uncertainty mounting. The question stopped the Potions instructor a moment.

"I was a Death Eater, once upon a time," he started. "As it happened, I was not far from the Dark Lord when he died- the window outside was as close as he would allow me to come, lest I ruin his plans for my own meager ambitions, as he might have put it." The scion of the Noble and Most Ancient House of Malfoy had heard about the Potters, how the master had decided that it was a task of great enough import that he would perform it himself. "I might have aimed a killing curse at his back, but I was afraid. He had no illusion that I was acting in his service because I enjoyed it." It was a confession to never having been under the Imperius Curse, but if memory served, he never made such a claim, only that he had defected and his crime of being a Death Eater was, if anything, an act of heroism. Draco suddenly found the notion almost amusing, if it were not for the overwhelming pity. "The last I heard from him was that he would _make an effort_ to spare Lily, but I made the same effort to avoid inflating my expectations. While he appreciated the information I provided, the Dark Lord would not be trifled with the life of an ordinary witch."

"What happened, Professor?" Draco asked.

"Unless I am mistaken, the killing curse he used to kill their young son inverted, killing him, but an Indian talisman round his neck preserved his magic long enough to set the place ablaze with cursed fire. I only just managed to extinguish it alone, and by then the boy was long dead. A braver man might have rushed in and worried about the fire later, but I had counted three killing curses." He sighed a moment. "The real reason I brought you along is because I need your help. I am a very bad man, Mr. Malfoy."


	26. Ebony

A week ago he would have avoided the Third Floor Corridor entirely rather than have any authority find him there. Ron would never have expected being frog-marched straight there with his head covered by black cloth in the dead of night.

His interrogation at the hands of Ebony, the rouge Hufflepuff Prefect had been such a farcical nightmare he was having trouble separating it from the fitful dreams he would have at night while blinded. Apparently she was an Inspector named Bagnold, like the Minister one time, but she regularly masqueraded as a student named Ebony. The real one might have died, but that was neither here nor there, as it happened years ago and the Inspector had been taking her place ever since. _Wait 'till mum finds out how she's been magicking herself younger._

"The Headmaster of Hogwarts may be content to let dark wizards roam the halls for two years until we catch them on the third, and the Ministry may have agreed to the compromise, but there are those of us who say different," she had explained to him, hours ago, or perhaps days. He had been fed in small amounts to keep him conscious, and allowed to sleep, but only in the chair where he had been bound, his wand sitting mere feet from him. It was ash and brittle with age, a single unicorn hair as the core, but he would have given whatever meager worldly possession he owned to have it in his hands again.

"So you're here every year- and how many dark wizards do you find?"

"Not important," she countered, reapplying the silencer. Ron supposed it might have been designed to wear off after a time. "What I have discovered about Hogwarts puts the rest of the Department to shame- while there are plenty of students I could send to Azkaban, Hermione Granger being one, I have come to the conclusion there is more important work to be done." _Oh, that's a laugh. Seems Quirrell went right under your nose._

He made his best possible silent display of objection to inquire what could be so crucial. _The worst part about having this thing on my head is I can't see if there's anyone else in the room. If I'm really stuck in here with this mad bird and only her, I'm done for._ He had been under the impression there were other Hufflepuffs who knew where he was, as he had heard a few other voices since being taken prisoner, but he doubted he would get any sympathy from them. From what he heard, it was the formation of something of a conspiracy or secret society at least three years in the making. Apparently they had some sort of intention to catch dark wizards, but they rarely made any headway with it from what he could extrapolate.

Either way, it did not help him as they went in the door, the beast quiet for some reason. He learned in hushed tones that it was sleeping, though it looked as though it would wake soon. _How the bloody hell are we going to get out?_

Whatever the answer to his question was, he did not learn it in the next room, which seemed utterly pointless, since Ebony made no mention of any sort of obstacle in it. _Is she really going to keep this blindfold thing on? How does she reckon I'm to be of any use?_

The light in the next room could be seen through the black cloth, out of character for a labyrinth of traps and obstacles. He heard some sort of flapping sound, as if there were birds in the room. _Are we outside? Is the point of this to drive me mad? It's not doing a bad job._

"Weasley-" the Prefect started, forcefully removing the visual obstruction with magic. "-the unlocking charm has no effect on the next door. _Finite._ "

"Well, what did you expect? Did you _really_ believe it was going to be that simple?" he asked, frustrated he was still without his wand, for all the good being able to see would do him. _I wouldn't have minded a cleverer kidnapper, if nothing else._ She glowered in response to his words, gesturing up to the things flying about above them. _Of course, if she's batty enough, she might just have brought my wand with her._

"Get the key." She ordered simply, not taking her wand off him. About to protest, he noticed a broom. _Pity it's one I could probably afford- well, in place of three Christmases._ He mounted without further protest and took it up some, noticing the flying keys above had accelerated. As he chased after them, their pace only grew faster, and to make matters worse, some of them were doubling back to cut across him. He had a good idea of which one to grab, but the others seemed inclined to protect it as he got close, rapping his knuckles and making cuts on his face.

When at last he managed to grab the key, an older looking silver one like the lock, he decided he was no Seeker and the bleeding cuts agreed.

"I now believe the broom to be a red herring," Ebony announced.

"It's not a bloody fish," he muttered as he unlocked the door, hoping to have her pass close by him.

"It was unnecessary, you absolute child. The keys were meant to dishearten you, but you plugged along, oblivious," she decided, passing by as he held the door open. If she carried his wand, it was not in her robes, as he discovered. Ron decided not to respond to the insult. _If she really doesn't have my wand, I'll have to take hers._

Contrasting the last room rather sharply, the chamber where they found themselves was almost as dark as the black cloth, but the light charm worked well enough.

"It's a chessboard- perfect," he muttered, seeing two giant pieces were missing on the black side, where they were approaching.

"We're meant to replace the queen and a pawn?" the Prefect asked, not a question in any meaningful way. Taking his place as a pawn, the game began rather abruptly with a white pawn advancing.

"Okay, queen's side knight-"

"What are you doing?" Ebony asked.

"I'm only directing a knight out into a feint, it's an early-game strategy that-"

"I'm in charge here. You move two forward." Ron shrugged and walked forward. He had every hope he would not _really_ die if he were stuck by another piece, but his chances were hardly better disagreeing with the itchy wand arm.

"I feel I should notify you you've exposed the king to a bishop who-" A white bishop moved out of the gap created the previous turn and placed the king in check."-and there he is now." _Maybe if we lose we're stuck here. I don't like the idea of this loon getting her hands on the Philosopher's Stone, and it might be someone else comes along and sorts her out._ "What was the point of moving me forward?" he asked, frustrated as Ebony moved a knight in the way of the bishop, killing it with a pawn as it gleefully took the bait.

"You needed to learn your place," she explained as another white pawn advanced.

"I suppose it was D5?" She sent what sounded like a stinging hex at him, but he ducked it. "What if we lose the game for me learning my place?" he asked, continuing to taunt her. He had no wish to face the blades the white pawns were carrying, especially without a wand, but he wagered it might be possible to take a dive if struck.

"It will be your fault. Do not think I mean to treat you any differently than dark wizards," Ebony responded, moving the other black knight out.

"Great. I was worried you'd find me," he muttered. "How can I be responsible if you're telling me what to do?" In his mind it started as a mindless complaint, but he saw the truth of it all the same. "We wouldn't have lost a high value piece a moment ago-"

"Do not think you comprehend my intentions," the Prefect ordered haughtily, countering the white pawn advancement with one of her own. It was clear she played a defensive game, which annoyed him. _I can't figure out if I want her to lose as badly as I want to win. I wonder if the white pieces would let me join them._

His estimation of their chances did not grow any more favorable in the next few moves. By Merlin, the girl seemed to know how to take out pawns, but continually sacrificed pieces of higher weight in the effort. Ron managed to distract her enough to keep her from killing him, but that did not stop her from getting him to the end of the board, where he considered simply running past her and the game entirely, but the board was surrounded by what looked to be broken pieces in the dim light. _That's not ominous. I can at least learn if she has my wand on her before running. Even if I lose the world's looniest Prefect, I don't like my chances without it._

"Toss me my wand and I can clear some of this debris," he called as she crossed the board, putting the white king in check herself.

"You are hardly the model of responsibility with a deadly weapon," came the response as the king moved. Unless he was mistaken, the white pieces were actually bored. _That could be because she's about to get steamrollered by the castle and then the game's basically over, but who am I to judge. I need to get my wand back after she dies and get the bloody hell out of here._

It took him a moment to wonder how he reached the point where he was anticipating someone's death or injury, but he accustomed himself to it. It was entirely possible there was no other point to reach. On the board, Ebony moved rather than allow the castle to reach her, but that only resulted in the destruction of the remaining black bishop. Immediately after she destroyed a castle herself, the white queen moved to check the king. _I guess it's not too bad if we lose without that loon getting smacked with a stone sword, but I was really starting to get my hopes up._

The Hufflepuff Prefect destroyed the queen herself, apparently not realizing it had been a trade, with a white bishop lined up to take her. The holy man brained her with a scepter before kicking her off the square, impervious to the blasts of magic she sent at it in panic. Ron did his best not to enjoy it, and seeing her bleeding on the ground made it easy enough, as he started to feel sick. Walking in a straight line to collect his wand, he realized halfway that the game was still going on and he was making a spectacularly foolish move, walking to where the bishop had knocked his captor, but he could not alter his course. Keeping pace, he stepped over her body and took a white pawn protecting another, which seemed to be trying to get to their end of the board.

What made him entirely sick was the realization that he would have to not only finish the game, but to survive he would likely have to win it. As the remaining white pawn neared his side in response to the loss of its guardian, he directed his remaining knight into a choke point, setting it between the king and castle, which were thankfully still in their default positions, as Ebony required few pieces to take out.

It was an old trick, but an unexpected one as it allowed him to take the castle as the king made the obvious choice and stepped aside. From there he used the knight to take the last white pawn as the white bishop moved into position. _You again-_ His thoughts were interrupted by screaming.

"Ron!" It was Neville, with a Malfoy grunt and Hermione, silently approaching at a resolute pace.

"Nice to see you. I'm in a bit of a tight spot here, but these fellows are no worse than Fred on a bad day." As he understood it, Percy was among the better of his brothers at the game, the twins lacking the patience. He ignored the white bishop destroying a pawn in a black cloud of dust in response to a seemingly useless move by his remaining knight, then walked in a diagonal, taking the castle the enemy bishop had exposed by moving. _I reckon they've already gathered most of what's happened here, or at least Hermione has. Good thing they know not to come onto the board._ He glared at an approaching Longbottom. _-or at least Hermione does._

"Ron, this is Professor McGonagall's doing," the Ravenclaw started. "These are not conjurations moving about automatically, nor are they like a computer program." _That's just as well; can't say I have a proper idea of what a computer program is._ "She literally transfigured them to a simulation of life- how they play is by their own choices." He nodded respectfully at the advice.

He noticed the bishop reposition itself out of the corner of his eye, careful not to step into the path of his knight. In truth, knights were better offensively, but a well-placed horseman could work in his favor. The way the board stood, he was down to him and some pawns, each having made varying degrees of progress down the board, but none having made it to the end as he had. Of the white pieces, there remained both bishops and a knight, who had taken to guarding the white king. _Can't help but think he'd be better off going on the offensive._ Taking his time and ignoring the advice Neville was shouting, he advanced a few pawns into a defensible position as the bishops moved to checkmate. _Almost there, now for the bait._ He moved a pawn into the path of his knight, which had by all appearances become part of the scenery, allowing it to be taken by one of the bishops, moving his horseman in for the kill.

He could have sworn the white pieces looked disappointed in themselves.

"Ron, are you still losing?"

"I don't think so," he called back. "I figure if they are basically alive, they can make mistakes. They forgot about the knight." A white bishop checked his king, but he simply moved one to the right, onto a black square. "One bishop can't take the king by himself. I reckon he's just going to go around killing pawns." As if listening to his advice, the holy man turned to position himself to take a pawn, but he moved it to the black square in front of it. He hoped Hermoine would get the idea and explain it to Neville as the white king sent the knight after the pawns, who were essentially clocks counting down to new queens. _The knight can't take a pawn if it puts him in danger. The best he can really do is line up between two of them, but then all I have to do is advance the one I can't protect with my knight._

The next few moves took place in relatively quick succession, Ron moving about with impunity by putting the white king back into check with every move until he was in range to take the knight, which essentially signaled the end of the game. As the opposing king surrendered, exploding into a cloud of white dust, he went over to collect his wand from the Prefect, whom Neville had apparently placed into a body bind.

It was at that point he found his most prized possession had been cruelly snapped.

Hermione showed a degree of sympathy for his loss in her expression while the Hufflepuff promised to get him a new one. _Weasleys don't accept charity._

"I'll have this one," he muttered as he stole Ebony's wand. It did not respond to him as he tried it. "I'll trade it in at Ollivander's," he decided, figuring he could find one that fit him better there. He did not know, as he had never been.

Apparently Hermione, Neville, and Goyle had been coming at night to the Underground Chambers in search of a place to hide and to possibly get the jump on Quirrell if he came down. It was a long shot, but Dumbeldore was tied up playing Keeper on the mind arts to protect the students, and there was too little evidence of anything to convince anyone else. With McGonagall occasionally being an Inspector, there was sufficient reason not to trust the professors anyway.

"Whatever happened to Alecto?" he asked, reminded of the one who pretended to be Hermione.

"My guess is Quirrell," the genuine article responded, noticeably dropping the 'professor' title. _Probably she's just lost all respect for him._ "Outside, everyone thinks he's disappeared- something else they're going to pin on us until we get to the bottom of this," she muttered as she pointed her wand at the unconscious, bound, Prefect.

"What are you doing?"

"I don't know. Even like this- we can't just leave her here."

"Well, yeah, but you can't just kill her," Ron protested. "I don't like her-"

"I know a flame spell," Hermione snapped, possibly angry at his implication she was contemplating a more permanent solution for simple dislike. "I can drop her from the top of this chamber."

"I didn't mean-"

"If you like, we can burn her eyes out. Healers can work wonders at Saint Mungo's, but they can't fix that. Of course, if you would prefer not to be caught, we can pile broken chessmen on her until she suffocates."

"There're other things we need to do," Goyle countered, pushing past Neville and going on to the next Chamber.

Neville had not responded in some time and it was only just then Ron noticed he was looking back and pointing at the door in, which was opening.

"Run!"


	27. Terrible Trolls and Potent Potions

They closed the next door as quickly as they could, hoping whoever was behind them would at least be slowed down by the chess game.

"Who the bloody hell was that?" Ron shouted, probably not conscious of the fact Hermione had a headache.

"It couldn't have been Quirrell- I heard more than one pair of feet." _Probably more than two, really._ "Ron, where have you been- no editorials."

"Draco and I made for the girls' toilet like we planned-"

"We got most of that bit out of Goyle. Start with where you left," she insisted, scanning the room to find only a dead troll.

"Well, I was going for you and Neville, but these Hufflepuffs chased me, then that Prefect caught me. She might have been waiting for me, might be I was just unlucky," he said as he explored the room, getting only a dim light out of the pilfered wand. "Her real name's Bagnold- surname, anyway. Could be related to the former Minister. Probably thought I'd be in Azkaban before I could tell anyone, that smarmy, overconfident-"

"Ron." She remembered telling Anthony that if he never saw her again, it would be because Quirrell killed her and the only thing to do was run for it.

"Right, sorry. She drags me here by herself, so that might have been her minions back there- we go through the key room since the dog thing was sleeping and the plant was dead. She makes me fly after it on the broom, makes fun of me for doing it, doesn't tell me how it was meant to be done-"

"Summoning charm-" Hermione interrupted. "-but it's not important. Professor Flitwick helped me with it." She remembered cautioning Neville about the broom being a bad idea, as Flitwick likely devised the obstacle as a test of wit.

"So it was a red snapper," he said, possibly reaching the same conclusion. "Anyway, we get to the chess game and she nearly gets us both killed- eventually she got whacked by a bishop. Not really my fault," he added in a mutter.

Hermione shook her head, disregarding the notion. _McGonagall's challenge was a test of courage. I highly doubt Ron would have died if struck by one of the chessmen, but he would never have known that when he first stepped onto the board. In his case, it seems he did so unwillingly, but he kept his head about him._

"The troll means Quirrell's been here," Goyle said, getting them back on track. In her evaluation he was impossibly straightforward, but it seemed a helpful flaw at this juncture. "He might have the Stone already." Hermione considered it. She had imagined the sky darkening or the rumble of an earthquake.

"If that's the case we have to take him down before he leaves here. It's not as easy to use as a wand," she explained, possibly reassuring herself. Hearing something behind her, she strode across the room, ignoring the pungent stench of the dead troll and giving the corpse a wide berth. _Even dead it still disturbs me._

The next chamber presented a line of potions on a table.

"Snape..." Ron muttered, likely correct in his supposition. Across the room, there were black flames forming a wall that kept them from advancing. Under the table she spied an alembic, a cauldron, and a decanter, which probably served to refill the potions as soon as they were drunk. _Wizards can't just duplicate things, if they could just refill potions they would do it all the time, probably with enchanted bottles. In order to refill the bottles, the potion has to be made again, even if the instruments can be magically automated. I suspect the ingredients can be summoned or possibly conjured._ She set to reading the length of parchment on the table with the potions, each a different size, shape, and hue. It appeared to be a riddle or logic puzzle, which fit, considering Slytherins were supposed to be shrewd. Hermione remembered Professor Snape telling her that only he was remotely competent masquerading as a normal person, and it was not her only clue that some of the greatest wizards seemed to lack an ounce of logic. Thinking back as she worked out the words on the page, Neville making an honest effort next to her, Professor Sprout's test was likely meant to require thoroughness, with it being necessary to burn the plant until it was entirely dead, entirely ashes.

The sound at the back of the room froze the Ravenclaw in place.

"Return my wand." All but Hermione turned to see the Hufflepuffs at the back of the room, the roar of flames sealing them inside presenting a moderate shock. She crumpled the length of parchment and shoved it into her coat pocket, making it look like she was drawing her wand. Neville deflected a curse from a jumpy henchman, a boy about his age, Ebony lacking her own wand. Ron fared no better with hers, forced to dodge a body-bind as Goyle aimed a knockback jinx at the feet of their attackers. _Someone's been learning from Draco._ From her own wand came a jet of flames, forcing two of them to dodge it at once. It appeared they had the numbers advantage, but Neville ran over to Ron when he was flattened by the combination of a tripping jinx and a knockback jinx.

"No!" Hermione shouted, suddenly unable to articulate to him that they should keep fighting, but Goyle did not need to hear it. He put one of the three of them to sleep by charging forward and using a sleep-assist charm, though his efforts were met with a body-bind. Ebony's wand was summoned by one of the remainders as she dodged Hermione's full body-bind, a more useful variant of the curse Neville learned. He tried to come back with one of his own, but his curse was deflected as the Prefect regained her wand, casting a jet of water straight at Hermione's flame charm, knocking her off her feet as the torrent collided with her. The force sent her into the table of potions, knocking a taller one over. A momentary look of concern faded from her eyes before she stunned the boy of her own house and turned at last to the drenched, coughing Ravenclaw, knocking her wand from her hand with an unfamiliar spell and summoning it. The other Hufflepuff was going back to wake the third, but Ebony stopped him.

"He suffered a head injury when that Slytherin brute knocked him off his feet. Let him sleep," she decided, her companion nodding as he put the stunned Neville into a body-bind, still on top of Ron. "A pity, really. I had thought he would make a good Hufflepuff." Hermoine's eyes narrowed in anger.

"Really? We only _lost_ because he was too senti-" A silencer closed her mouth. The two victors who remained standing looked over the potions, picking up the big black one that fell over and spilled some.

"Our interest is to recover Draco Malfoy, the fugitive and suspected practitioner of dark magic. Fear nothing, your names have since been added to the list," the Prefect added as she examined the potions, possibly hoping to recognize them. "We came here tonight because he was seen traveling in this direction with Professor Snape, his Head of House." _What was he doing wandering around in the castle without a disguise?_ "To apprehend him, we need to pass through those black flames." _I truly pity you. Knowing Snape, he's not lying about some of these potions being lethal._ An idea came to mind, and despite everything, she hated herself for it.

"What do you know about these potions?" the other one asked, pointing his wand at her. She stared until he removed his companion's silencer.

"Nothing," she lied, not even trying to hide it. Ebony hit her with another jet of water, this time to the face.

"You know something- Gabriel, do not hesitate to use force with this girl. Her continued denial of using dark magic only further implies it." At that, 'Gabriel' stood and pointed his wand at her.

" _Incendio,_ " he cast, orange fire licking at her, causing her to scream as the water evaporated. "What do you know about these potions?!" he shouted, causing regret to fill her mind. _What was I thinking with this plan- if only I didn't freeze when they came in here-_ Fire erupted once more, only to be cut off by a jet of water in her face, knocking her to the floor.

"S-stop- just- let my friends go-" she started, raising her arms above her.

"All four of you are headed straight for Azkaban, it matters not that they are captured today or tomorrow," Ebony explained, pressing. "Tell us which potion takes us through the black flames." In some corner of her mind, it registered that the Prefect concluded as she had that as the flames were different, one needed a different brew to go forward or back.

With two wands trained on her and either one perfectly capable of drowning her or burning her alive, whichever came first, time seemed to slow down in her racing mind as she righted herself.

 _Am I going to kill her?_

 _Has it come to this?_

Resolving to leave the wizarding world and its myriad troubles behind, she groaned out something about the potions being a trick, not paying attention to the words she was using. Her back ached as she managed to rise, putting some of the poison into the alembic.

"May- I have my-" she coughed. "May I have my wand back for the alembic?" _My wand- even if I don't come back here, I'm keeping it. I'd be a fool to leave a good weapon behind._

"Gabriel, light the burner," Ebony ordered. If her dazed memory served, the boy might be a Prefect as well, but she never kept track. Sniffing the small bottle, she found it was odorless, and presumed the rest were the same. _This is the one that gets you through the black flames._ Not sure whether to simply down the whole thing or put it back, she poured it into the unlit cauldron rather than the decanter, not wanting to risk aerating it. _Looks like those potion-making books weren't for naught after all._ Having done her best to puzzle out the parchment Professor Snape had left behind, she was reasonably certain that she knew the effects of each potion. _I can't just poison them- they'll have me drink it first._ Her crime would require a more careful mechanism.

"What are you doing?" the boy asked as she poured some of all three of the deadly poisons into the crystal decanter.

"You don't want these, you want the decantation," she muttered, adding complexity needlessly. "The one to avoid is that one," she said as she pointed to a red bottle.

"What does it do?" Ebony asked. "Is it fatal?"

"Not really, some survive," Hermione explained, visibly waving off the notion. "Either way, take this one in a few minutes." The Prefect glared at her.

"Three potions to pass the black flames- how do you know this?"

"When we first came in here there was a voice that told us what each solution was," she responded, having anticipated the question. "The challenge is to mix them together in the decanter. It's as simple as that." She did her best to sound nervous and hesitant rather than coldly determined. At some level, perhaps she was, she decided. Perhaps there was yet a twelve year-old girl about to kill two people, standing in a puddle of water dripping from her clothes.

"Truly?" Ebony asked. "You're not lying?" She picked up the crystal container and walked over to her.

"W-why would I lie? I- I wouldn't poison you," she insisted. "Stay away."

"If you're not lying, you wouldn't mind drinking it then, would you?" she reasoned as she swilled the solutions. "It would appear there's plenty to go around."

"No, stop, please, if you kill me, you'll never find out the real combination!" she spat out as if she had only just thought of it. _I have to recover my wand._

 _"And just how_ do we know you won't try to poison us again?" Gabriel asked, singing her robes with a fire charm.

"I'll drink it myself!" she offered quickly, backing up to the table. Turning, but keeping an eye on them, she poured one bottle of 'nettle wine' into the other. _God knows what this is- but it's not poison, and it won't help them through the flames._ She turned to them with the large black bottle and a panicked expression on her face, which seemed to satisfy their suspension of disbelief, if it could be called that. "Now the effect won't last too long, so you may have to run a bit-"

"Stop delaying," Ebony ordered. "Drink it."

Hermione downed an ounce or so without hesitation. _I can add that misdemeanor to my record when I get back to sanity._ The wine was probably supposed to be sweet, but it still tasted terribly strong and she felt it in her head almost immediately. For a moment she worried Ebony would recognize the taste, but it was Gabriel who picked it up.

"You might have to run a bit, just eno-" The words stopped in her throat as she realized she was trying to ensure he would run into the flames and die, not merely get licked some. "You're not going with-" _Now I'm trying to neutralize all my targets- what the hell is wrong with me?_

"My support will not be needed to see if Draco Malfoy is through there. I remain here to compel you to help me through the flames behind us."

Both of them turned sharply as Gabriel screamed and she dove for her wand as Ebony blasted her with a jet of water. _The black flames are cursed- he's not long for this world._ On the ground and far from her wand with the Prefect standing over her, she turned to look at what she had done as a boy a few years older than herself burned alive in an inhuman agony. She turned back with tears in her eyes to see the witch with a wand pointed at her.

"Anything to say for yourself, Miss Granger?"

"Yes," she muttered, a cruel smile breaking on her face. "You really are as stupid as I thought."

Ron's foot went into the back of Ebony's knee and he grabbed her head as she crumpled, digging his fingers into her eyes. Rising, Hermione grabbed both her wand and the hand with a death grip on it and snapped it as she was struck with a blind slap. Fumbling around for her own wand, she at last recovered it, putting the Prefect into a full-body bind and kicking her in the nose as she hit the ground, stiff as a board.

"I doubt that wand can be traded now," Hermione commented as she used _Finite_ on Neville and Goyle, whom she doubted Ron could have unbound with a borrowed wand.

"Yeah, no thanks to you," he muttered, not really upset at the loss by any visible measure. She watched him walk over to the bleeding Prefect, looking down at her. "We still can't kill her," he decided, shaking his head and staring down resolutely. "I know you did what you had to with the other one, but if we kill her, it'll really be our fault. It'll be cold blood."

"Ron, they're going to believe _her._ It doesn't matter what actually happened. If she's alive to tell about it, we'll be murderers. If she's not... well, at least we have a chance," she ended quietly. With the words leaving her throat they seemed more real than they were in her mind.

Goyle had no input, but Neville had to disagree.

"Hermione, this only means we have the choice between looking like murderers and being murderers," Neville argued. She wondered for a moment if his poor memory forced other parts of his brain to compensate. "I know what my parents would pick."

It was an odd subject, and she had decided to leave it alone long since. Here the Hufflepuff was referring to them as if they were alive, other times he referred to them as though they were dead. She doubted they were in Azkaban- as little as she approved of drawing conclusions in this manner, members of his House rarely went dark.

"Alright." She did not want to kill in cold blood. "Alright." She would prefer not to break every rule she could imagine. "Alright- only one of us can go on. There's only enough potion for one of us."

"I can't let you go alone," Neville protested.

"You won't have to," she muttered, digging out the potion of a violet hue, an oddly relevant color. "I'm staying here to watch the prisoners with Ron." _He can't do a lot of good right now, even if he's willing to steal the dead one's wand._ "Goyle's going back for Dumbledore- we have proof now." _We'll have it by the time he gets here._ Out of the corner of her eye, she noticed the Gryffindor was pilfering a wand off the corpse. _That face is going to be in my dreams for a while..._

"What about...?" Neville trailed off.

"You're going, dunderhead," Goyle explained, borrowing a favorite from his Head of House.

"I trust you, Neville," Hermione continued. "More than you trust yourself." _More than I trust myself- right now anyway._

The arrangements were made and the heir to the Longbottom name went through the dark fires alone.


	28. The Philosopher's Stone

Neville stared at a dark mirror, its surface only showing him as he approached. On the silvery plane he saw his parents, unlike they had ever been in his memory. They smiled proudly at his dumbstruck expression, and for a mere moment he wondered if they had been trapped inside, their souls separated from their bodies. The longer he stared, he realized that it was not his parents staring back at him, his parents were insane, wandering around in a ward at Saint Mungo's. As the Healer on hand had explained, there was precisely nothing wrong with their souls, they were in every way still his parents, but they were incurably mad, and unless some unforeseen change took place in the treatment options for insanity, they would remain that way all of their days. He instructed Neville to not give up hope, not ever.

When he eliminated what was patently impossible, he realized he was only looking at something like a painting of his parents, only it was one that he was painting himself. Their faces started to change. The apparitions of his parents before him were the result of an advanced enchantment on the mirror, and he guessed this was the obstacle Dumbledore made. _Hagrid, Sprout, Flitwick McGonagall, Quirrell, Snape, and Dumbledore._ Checking his Remembrall, he decided he was not forgetting anything. _It may not be very useful, but it's never failed me, not once._

Putting some thought into it, the Philosopher's Stone seemed like more trouble than it was worth. He knew he could not use it, Hermione would need a miracle, and really they were only trying to keep it from Quirrell, Voldemort, or whoever it was. _If the Stone could be made by Flamert, he has to know how to destroy it._ From his friend's angry mutterings, he had some idea that the alchemist had been using his creation to keep himself alive, which was most likely what motivated the preservation of the Stone, and Neville considered they may not be able to get him to give it up especially only for the sake of keeping it from a dark wizard who was supposed to be dead.

And yet, as he stood there, he was achieving little.

 _Where's Quirrell- why isn't he in here? Has he given up? Does he have it?_ The idea frightened him, but he guessed he should have prepared himself for the idea, given that they had chased him in, of course he would get there first. _What happened here? How do we destroy the Stone now? How do we stop Quirrell? How can I get my friends out of here?_

The surface of the mirror changed to reveal Victor Crabbe standing behind him and he swiveled, nearly tripping over his own feet.

"Crabbe? Where the-"

"Quirrell was here and he has the Stone. He put the dog thing straight to sleep and moved the big plant out of the way of the door. He passed though the other door without the key and made the chessmen break each other."

"The troll?"

"He killed the troll and he just picked up a few of the potions to smell them."

"And you were trapped in the mirror?" _The mirror was where the Stone was hidden- somehow. Quirrell must have needed Crabbe to get at it, though I can't figure out why._ Crabbe nodded. As the black flames went out behind them, Neville remembered Snape was supposed to have been seen with Silver.

"Where's Draco?" Hermione asked, voicing the question everyone was thinking as at last they came through the fire. Her face bore a look of deep concern. _She's figured it out. Of course she has._

"Probably with Quirrell. Quirrell has the Stone and he's using Silver as a hostage to get the Elector of Life."

"He could have used anyone," Ron interrupted.

"Ron, no one else is missing except you and Draco. If he kidnapped anyone else, he would have had to spring the trap right then," the Ravenclaw explained. She paused while Crabbe repeated everything he had said to Neville. The mood in the room darkened considerably.

"Goyle's going after Dumbledore," Ron mentioned.

"It's too late for that," Hermione explained, cutting him off. "Qui- Voldemort's already trading Draco for Nicolas Flamel, if he's here."

"Where are they meeting?" Neville asked. "Maybe we could surprise Quirrell." The idea was met with little confidence, even from Ron. "It's starting to look like our only chance," he added. _I don't know what I can do against him- I really don't, but I can't leave Silver up to him._

"I'm not sure it is," Hermione countered, her voice absent of the hope he might have expected with the suggestion of a chance. "He needs Flamel, right? That's why he didn't leave right after he got the Stone. He can't find him, or he would have found him months ago and just forced him to make another Stone."

"What are you saying?" he asked. "Are you saying he needs Dumbledore to get Flamel?" All of a sudden it made sense- in Gringotts, the Stone was in Flamel's vault, but Flamel was nowhere to be found. The lock was separated from the key and as a result the Stone was safer than it ever could have been in Hogwarts. Somehow, he planted the idea in Dumbledore's mind to move it. There was no way to be certain, it could have been a word of advice from a friend under the Imperius- or Quirrell himself. He broke into the vault after the fact to convince Dumbledore he had made the right decision.

"He's some sort of recluse- prefers the quiet life," Hermione explained, probably remembering one of the many books she had read on the subject. "He and Dumbledore were old friends, though. If Dumbledore had the key to his vault, or if they shared the vault he probably had some way of getting in contact with him." There was a silence as all listened for what she would say next. "Apart from attacking Voldemort, our only chance is to get to Flamel first," she announced.

"Are you saying we kill Flam- Hermione, he didn't even do anything!" Ron objected. "We can still get Quirrell- well, he's using Snape now, if we surprise him-"

"Ron, we haven't been _able_ to surprise him yet. Every step of the way we've been playing right into his hands, and it's because we've been going about this like children. For your information, I'm not suggesting we kill Flamel- we convince him not to come when Dumbledore calls. I know where he lives in France- it was in one of the books in the Restricted Section." All at once another mystery unraveled before Neville as he thought about it- one possible reason to seek a teaching position at Hogwarts was to have access to those books specifically, but he had drawn too much attention to himself with the troll. _He could have been meaning to make a distraction of it- but it got out of hand._

"If we don't allow Dumbledore to trade him, Malfoy dies and he still has the Stone!" Crabbe objected.

"Whose side are you-" Ron started. "We can't allow him to get Flamel and the Stone, no matter who dies- we still have a chance. He thinks he's won- if we just attack him all at once, Dumbledore can kill him before anyone dies! You don't know what he was like during the war, he won't just trade the Stone for one life-"

"Malfoy isn't just one life, he's a whole line and I'll be damned before I let it die," The Slytherin swore vehemently, frustrated the discussion was hardly going his way.

"Oh, so _that's_ what's important here- it's alright if bloody You-Know-Who comes back, I don't suppose-"

"Shut up, both of you!" Hermione shouted, her strained eyes wide with anger. "You're going after Voldemort and getting yourself killed if you like, Neville and I are going to find Flamel- we can't expect both plans to work, if either of them do." Crabbe and Ron looked angry enough to be forced to work together, but it was nothing new for the latter, at least. _I guess their interests line up. They're both going after Quirrell- well, Snape, I think._ "Neville, are you coming?"

"Yes," he muttered, following her closely as the four of them left through the disappearing purple flames, taking it at a bit of a run. "Where are we going?"

"Non-magical Paris-" she started. "-the last place anyone would think to look. We're taking the Floo from Professor McGonagall's office."

None of the obstacles got in their way as they left, even the chessmen stepped aside.

Apparently it was somewhere in _Hogwarts: A History_ that there was only one fireplace capable of international travel in Hogwarts, and they were fortunate enough that its owner was either tied up somewhere or an Inspector, whom they could attack at will.

"She can't run around in my appearance anymore and she's probably hoping to keep close to Professor Dumbledore," Hermione had said as they were running. Neville frowned. His impression of Alecto was that she was tricky and not at all predictable. They threw open the office door without bothering to knock and the Ravenclaw screamed at the sight of a tough-looking woman chained to the ceiling with dark green chains, probably conjured. Checking his Remembrall, he really had never met her, but it seemed he was alone on that.

"I recognize her- she was following me once- it's not important," The Ravenclaw said as she grabbed the Floo powder. She had significantly more interest in the Network as a means of travel than flying, and he had been happy to explain how it worked, as his grandmother would occasionally use it to take him places. She never bothered to tell him about it, because he would only forget, but he managed to pick up a few things. " _Le Masque de Fer_ " she announced as she cast the powder into the fireplace. Both of them entered without hesitation.

"How do we know he's not gone yet?" Neville asked as they surfaced in what appeared to be a Muggle bar, which his grandmother had told him to avoid.

"We don't, this may be a waste of time," Hermione explained, ducking through patrons. The sign on the door said 'Salon' something, but he was confused as to what it had to do with hair. "Voldemort's always been two steps ahead, so we have to jump the gun a bit if we're to catch him off guard."

"Right- and what's a gun?"

"Something I wouldn't mind right now," she muttered vaguely in response. They were out on a crowded street in a part of the city that smelled like concrete and cigarettes, not quite what he had imagined of the fabled Paris in the morning. _Maybe it's still pretty in the magical part._ According to Hermione, Flamel lived most of his life in the city in peace with the muggles, or 'normal people' as she called them before faking his death after creating the Philosopher's Stone centuries ago. _Guess he couldn't very well keep up the act too long, he and his wife still young and chipper as everyone else gets old._

"What do we do when we find him?" Neville asked, trying his best not to doubt that they would find him.

"We'll cross that bridge when we get there," Hermione responded, again uselessly and again without turning around.

"Hermione."

"What?"

"Why are you acting like this?" _I guess I can't entirely eliminate lack of sleep._

"What?" she asked, frustrated.

"You're not acting like you."

"Well 'I' can't handle this. Whatever I am now can, at least for now." She opened the door to what appeared to be a restaurant with a townhouse on the second floor. Inside they were assaulted by a wave of new scents, and as they waited at the front, a waiter came by and started talking to them in French, which it appeared Hermione could at least passably speak. _They must do things differently in Muggle schools._ Eventually he seemed satisfied by her attempt.

"Zere is no one by zat name 'ere," he explained, probably in reference to the alchemist or his wife.

"I- I know that sir, just anyone who looks like him." Neville had a harder time figuring out that request, but the waiter explained that the man who lived upstairs was an eccentric, going about in robes and all that. They never minded, as he was generous enough and he had a good taste in cheese. As she asked for a key, he waived away the notion and told her she'd better knock, since he hardly enjoyed being disturbed.

"How'd you know he'd be here?" Neville asked as they went upstairs.

"I didn't, but he's a creature of habit, apparently, and he'd never leave the cheese shops of Paris. An author quoted Professor Dumbledore in a book on his work with the alchemist, and he said he had a fondness for this particular street. In his day, if you lived in the city, you died in it sooner than relocating- the French were highly regional, even more so than-"

The door opened in response to her knocking.

"Hogwarts robes?" The man's old blue eyes blinked once in confusion. "They look so different now..." His appearance rather surprised Neville, as he had been expecting a young man, or at least younger than he was, his salt and pepper hair more salt than pepper. A similarly old woman stared at them from around the corner.

"I'm sorry sir, this is important."

"It's always important," he barked unexpectedly. "You people don't know how to let things happen." Again, Neville's expectations had been defied. Where he had hoped for someone who would understand immediately and help them, or at least help himself, there was a veritable curmudgeon. _I suppose he really does prefer the quiet life._

"Please, Voldemort's taken the Philosopher's Stone and he's coming after you-"

"Color me surprised," Flamel spat. "I have enough of the Elixir to order my affairs before death." The idea stopped Hermione in her tracks.

"You can't have already decided on dying-"

"Can't I? You're not going to get the Stone back, are you?" Neville found himself liking the man less and less. It was true, though, at the moment it appeared there was no way to regain the lost treasure, not with it in Voldemort's hands.

"Well, we're only here to keep you from answering Professor Dumbledore if he tries to trade you for the hostage. He's a student."

"He hasn't contacted me."

"It's only a matter of-"

"Do you really think he'd do it? Give his old enemy a chance to live again for the life of a student?" He almost laughed, but he looked at Neville's expression. "No, he'll take the blame for the loss. He's probably writing the boy's parents already." The alchemist sat down as his wife poured three glasses of wine, none of which were touched. "You don't know him very well if you think he'll do it. He knows I'd ask why, and I'd never go if I knew the reason."

"But you've already accepted dying," Neville protested, more confused than anything.

"I can't very well make another Stone, can I? I don't have another soul to lose."

"You- you lost your soul?" Hermione asked, voice caught in her throat.

"In a manner of speaking- don't ask me how I did it. There are things we can't just _make_ , not with Alchemy or any of the old magicks, even the darkest of the arts- and some of these things have immeasurable value. What do you think you could do if you just stopped worrying about whether or not you should? What do you think you could become if you stopped looking at yourself in the mirror? Maybe you would decide you were doing it temporarily, perhaps you would tell others you were only doing it for the greater good. It is easy to rationalize sacrificing what is precious, and it is easier still to end up living with guilt." Neville was not sure whether the old man was talking about himself, Dumbledore, or who if neither of them.

"Is that why you don't talk?" Neville asked. _I don't know how I'll face Silver if I can't overcome this._

"Neither of us like politics, but he would never become a recluse over it. As long as he and I had ties, there would be those who could find me." He sighed. "All the same, you are probably right, though suffice to say it's complicated."

"Sir... I confess that most of... this has... escaped my understanding, but do you want your creation being used to bring back _Voldemort_?" Hermione asked, almost pleadingly. "Won't that only... add more regrets?"

"I imagine it would, but as your goal was to keep me from answering the summons from your Headmaster, so commendable a keeper of the students he would Floo me for this kind of favor, you have well and truly wasted your time." He took a drink. "He will not summon me and I shall not go unbidden. Voldemort will not get to use the Stone and the student will die."

As the air hung in silence and Hermione started to turn to go, Neville wondered if what they were doing counted as sacrificing Silver.

The fireplace flared briefly and a smile cracked on the old alchemist's face.

"Well, I'll be damned."


	29. The Exchange

Draco continued to curse himself for not figuring it out sooner.

Hours earlier, he had retrieved what he thought was the Philosopher's Stone from what 'Snape' called the Mirror of Erised, with the intent to use it against Quirrell, or rather, the Dark Lord, only to find the plan had changed to Draco taking it straight to the Headmaster's office, since the Defense professor was nowhere to be found. In his thinking, the dead troll would have been all the evidence needed to incriminate Quirrell of having tried and failed to take the Stone, unable to retrieve it from the mirror or possibly turned away by the challenge of Snape's logic puzzle. Dumbledore was to contact his old friend Nicolas Flamel for help in destroying the source of the Elixer, the only way to guarantee it would never fall into Voldemort's hands. Wherever Quirrell was, he would either stay, having given up on the Stone, or he would go after them in the vain hope he could defeat enough of them and take it.

Within moments Dumbledore recognized the Stone as a fake.

Draco saw fear in the old warlock's eyes as he looked up at the face of his trusted mole in the Death Eaters, knowing there could only be one man behind its loveless black eyes. A few simple questions with his wand drawn and the Headmaster knew the whole story, the real one, and no amount of subtlety could have kept the young Slytherin from putting it together moments later, piece by frightful piece.

The Dark Lord had had the Philosopher's Stone for days, using Crabbe to get past the final challenge and sealing him in the Mirror of Erised as a backup hostage in the event the more valuable Malfoy heir managed to piece together the truth dangling right in front of him. Quirrell had been a convenient hostage for months, as no one knew him at Hogwarts, but the moment suspicion mounted high enough he found Alecto disguised as Professor McGonagall, stole the remainder of her Polyjuice potion, and bound her the same way he would bind Snape in a matter of minutes. Flat against the ceiling of his own office and unable to reach his wand, the Potions master was unable to resist the subtraction of a few hairs, nor could he have notified a disguised Draco of the trap into which he was walking, right under the hook of his nose.

Against the demonic temptation to hang his head in shame, that same Draco now walked out of the school with his eyes fixed on his captor to the border of the castle's wards, where they expected to meet the Alchemist in response to the fireplace message the Headmaster had only just completed. In an insult to justice, they encountered the real Minerva McGonagall on their way out, and as she asked after the dour procession, Dumbledore insisted they had the matter under control, as no other response would have satisfied the dark wizard with Alecto Carrow's wand pointed at his student. As an intentional conceit the Dark Lord could afford by virtue of his spectacular dueling prowess, he had allowed his old Transfiguration teacher to keep his wand, provided it was in his hat, where it would take him just too long to reach it. The wand Draco had been carrying was attached to the inside of his pocket by means of a sticking charm.

 _With any luck, he doesn't kill me when Flamel decides not to appear._

The very idea insulted his sensibilities. As far as he knew, the alchemist could not simply create more Stones at will, else he would have destroyed the one about which Dumbledore knew and kept a secret one. With that established, even if the Dark Lord made the mistake of leaving him alive, he would not be long for this world without his creation. He had no earthly idea why Flamel would agree to appear, if it was even the case that he had. All the Headmaster had said was that he was certain the message had been received and it was best they go past Hogwarts warding. _Has he forgotten in his old age that the warding is what notifies him of dark magic? There could be Death Eaters in the trees for all he knows! Worse yet, Lord Voldemort could have something of his own planned._ Most duels were over before they began, as his father had told him. There were better and worse duelists, but strategic advantages like numbers, the element of surprise, and warding the battlefield were usually to far greater effect than being able to spit out spells quickly.

The world was silent as Flamel appeared with a crack, the air waving around him.

"Nicolas. I had not expected you would join us," Dumbledore announced, in something of an understatement as far as Draco was concerned. _You have to be absolutely mad._

"I had not expected you would ask."

He gestured in the direction of the Dark Lord. "This is a former student of mine, though Mr. Riddle goes by a different name of late. He was a bright boy and I had hoped he would spend his future any other way. His hostage is a current student of mine, Draco Malfoy. He has every ounce of guile his father did, but a stout heart and a stiff upper lip at this very moment."

"Where is the Stone?" the alchemist inquired, likely having gathered his old friend's predicament.

"I do not have it," came the drawl of Severus Snape, without the usual mockery. "Tell me how to use it."

"My creation produces the Elixer of Life in a crucible with an already prepared Perdition Philter heated to nine hundred, two score ten and nine Fahrenheit-" the Dark Lord suddenly sent a bright red curse just past Flamel, knocking something hard against a tree. Another blur of motion was likewise struck down.

"Thought to bring reinforcements? No matter, do continue," he ordered politely, not at all offended, having not been in any danger. The uncertain alchemist resumed his explanation, leaving Draco even more confused. _Was that a Disillusionment Charm? I suppose if he agreed to come here without asking why, he would at least insist on having a few extra wands._ He was willing to admit the old man might not be mad after all, for all the good it did him. Dumbledore moved to see about the stunned or petrified new arrivals, but an absent-minded swish of the Dark Lord's wand corrected him. With so much as one ally on the battlefield, the Headmaster would be able to regain the advantage, even if he could not save his student, causing the Slytherin to curse himself again. _He's walking like a lamb to the slaughter for my errors- and refusing to let me die for it._

There was no magic on this world or any other that could save him without Lord Voldemort being able to kill him in the time it took.

As the alchemist neared what sounded like the conclusion of his instruction, though it was hopelessly complex for his taste, there was a momentary rustle in the trees behind them immediately followed by a jinx, then a curse, but whoever was hiding in the Forbidden Forest was so bold as to loose an arrow in the Dark Lord's direction, though he burned it to cinders before it reached him, turning his stolen wand to banish that of his old teacher before he could draw it. Two knockback jinxes of unknown origin found his knees, but a sweep of his wand blew back the assailants and a blue-black haze of dark magic held Draco in place.

"Finish it!" he demanded, suddenly impatient.

"It appears you are not wanted here, Tom. I can think of a few reasons why," Dumbledore interjected, a deliberate delay.

Time froze as Draco's memories overrode what went on in his mind, taking him down to the cellar of Malfoy Manor, a dark maze of hewn quartz by lamplight.

"The estate's defenses are strongest here by natural properties and there is no way on this world or any other for an outsider to know what may come to pass in this chamber."

"Why have you taken me here, father?" he asked respectfully. Whatever the unimportant dregs thought in Gryffindor and Hufflepuff, he had a perfect understanding of respect and qualities he found worthy of it. His father was in many ways the incarnation of all of them.

"You are about to leave for school and I have every expectation you will meet people there of inferior blood, though not in your own House."

"I suppose not everyone can be from an old family," he agreed, not sure where the sitting Lord Malfoy was going with it.

"Would that it were only the half-bloods, yes, but there is a significantly more serious matter. In your year, as there have been since the nineteen seventies, there will be those who the school and the Ministry believe to have Muggle parentage."

"But that's-"

"Impossible, yes, but that's bureaucracy for you, during my time as Finance Minister we had the head of the Potter family declared legally dead no fewer than seven times before he actually fell to the malady of the Dark Lord. Magic is a trait, but the world would have you believe otherwise. They would have you believe it can simply come from nowhere." He was allowed to think about it for a moment.

"But- that would mean- no matter what happens, the wizarding world could continue. Even if the last of us died, a new one would be born somewhere and it would start all over again."

"Yes- and worse yet, they would have you believe it's a rather likely occurrence. I would estimate between two and three in ten of your year will supposedly be 'Muggle-born', a term I expressly forbid you from using. It is their wish that if it is said often enough, it will come to be believed."

"I'll absolutely not say it, Father."

"The war left a lot of orphans, some from our side, some from theirs," the Malfoy head explained. "In hopes of adopting one such orphan to raise into his or her magical heritage, Lady Malfoy and I deliberately delayed having our first to devote all of our energies in the upbringing of one child at a time. Your mother does not wish that I tell you this, but she is supremely disappointed we were unable to adopt- all because of politics, mind, because it cost you an elder brother or sister who would have helped raise and toughen you to tempered silver. Instead we waited- and now you are the one heir of the magicks of our House, a burden I believe you still do not fully realize."

"I'll realize it soon, I swear it," Draco responded, deciding not to contradict his father by saying he realized it already.

"This brings us to the reason for our discussion. Those orphans, any one of whom could have made an excellent sibling for you, were instead given to Muggle families, risking Secrecy in the most absurd and destructive way possible. Even now I wonder if Lambton's son is still out there, ignorant though he is of the sacrifice his father and mother made."

"Why would they do this?" He asked, virtually shaking.

"The truth is, there are traitors among us- rootless half-bloods like Albus Dumbledore and fence-sitters like Cornelius Fudge. I shall not go into their motivations as I do not know them, but I am well aware of their actions and the consequences thereof- you must not, under any circumstances, trust either one."

As his memory forced him back to the present, he remembered his diamond conviction and opened his eyes as if waking from sleep.

The Dark Lord Voldemort heard the last of the instructions from Flamel and killed him without a moment's hesitation. Almost immediately he was assaulted from two directions, expertly shielding and deflecting curses, returning with more than a few of his own. Draco noticed that as the caster died, his Disillusionment Charm faded, revealing of all people, Longbottom and Granger. His eyes went wide as an unexpected cancellation appeared to rouse the former somewhat, as his head whipped around to the origin of the spell. _Weasley- Where are Crabbe and Goyle?_

As if in an answer to his question, he who disguised himself as their Head of House dragged their stunned bodies forward from opposite directions, using them to gloat with Draco momentarily, hitting Dumbledore with what sounded like a Confundus.

"Your manservants? Really, Malfoy, I had heard how difficult it was to find good help these days, but one would think you would at least have an elf." A body-bind curse hit the Dark Lord directly in the back. He managed to perform the countercurse almost immediately, but not before another one came after him and he was forced to dodge, allowing the Headmaster the necessary time to retrieve his wand, already shaking off the confusion. Once again Draco was caught in the middle, Voldemort's stolen wand not leaving him once, even to send a curse after Weasley, who was likely already casting another body-bind from a distance. _Probably met up with Crabbe and Goyle on the way here- arranged to get into position to launch curses from three directions- as loath as I am to admit it, neither of them could have had the idea._

"You have no means of escape, Tom. I am not the fastest duelist in the world, but I am not the slowest either," Dumbledore threatened modestly, his wand leveled at his former student. "The moment you try to exercise a modicum of your ill intent, you will not have another chance to surrender." _You're still giving him a chance?_ It did not escape his notice his own life was still in danger.

"It appears that way, and yet you will still lose everything, _Professor_ ," the Dark Lord promised without sparing an ounce of vitriol. "I have the Stone, far from the castle, and I know the secrets of its workings. I shall reassemble my followers and regain my former strength- what a fragile thing is human reason." From behind him, Neville was getting to his feet, but his wand was quickly knocked out of his hand. "Speak of the devil," he said, inclining his head to Longbottom, Dumbledore's wand wavered between the two of them. _Is it because we're both the last of our lines? No, if aught Father says is true, it is only because we're both students, or something even worse._ Weasley's curse came from a nearer distance than last time, suggesting he had been getting into position, though this only allowed the Dark Lord to send another back from whence it came. This allowed Dumbledore the opportunity to expel Alecto's wand from his hand. The haze of the dark blue color that had been holding him in place vanished.

"Surrender Misters Malfoy and Longbottom-" his order was interrupted by a pillar of cursed fire, and Draco saw to his horror that it was an enormous snake, hissing a column of black smoke into the air. With all his magical prowess, the Headmaster was struggling to contain the blaze. _He can't fight like this, not with the school-_ The thought came to his mind quickly, but within a breathless moment it was never there.

The Dark Lord lowered Draco's own hawthorn and unicorn hair wand and turned it on him.

"I shall regret spilling magical blood as much as I regret drinking that of the unicorn, the pure, wild creature of magic, but as necessary as that was, your esteemed Headmaster cannot be allowed to escape unpunished, and nothing save total failure will suffice. However poor his loyalty has been of late, I shall not end the line of Malfoy on account of my former servant, and instead I shall reduce you to a raving lunatic, fighting the mind terrors of absolute insanity." The young Slytherin turned to run as he spoke, tearing across the grounds as a beam of white light followed him, arcing and twisting like some mad raven in flight. _I'd rather die- let it not be said the Malfoy line ended without honor._ Sprinting toward the column of cursed fire, he saw a crowd of students forming in his peripheral vision.

"Silver! Never-" a collision of flesh was all the warning he had before being knocked off his running feet, the fire inching closer to him as it spread in myriad snakes across the grass. Above him Neville Longbottom seized as the curse made contact with his back, his eyes going white. Draco screamed in his struggle to get out from under the writhing young wizard, ripping his wand out of his trousers and taking a good measure of fabric along with it. He attempted a killing curse, but with the distance, it would still have been all too easy to avoid.

"Is that Longbottom?" the Dark Lord asked with sudden fascination, seeming not concerned with Dumbledore as he successfully contained the volume of cursed fire. "I would be amused, but the fate of his parents was the work of the Lestranges, so the irony here is unrefined at best. All the same, this turn of events suits me well." _Why is he so happy? Why- the Philosopher's Stone- of course._ Draco's scowl did not so much as wrinkle his nose as he loosed another curse, which his enemy deflected after an exaggerated bow. The next spell to meet him, sent in his direction by his old Transfiguration teacher, arced around his wand and knocked him to the ground, burning him with a dying red light. In mere moments the disguise was burned away, then the body itself, the man named Quirinus Quirrell lost forever.

Draco did not remember when he stopped screaming, only that he was no longer.


	30. The End of the Inspection

Ron did not think he had spoken in days to anyone except Hermione, and with her he mostly worked quietly on the assignments he had missed. Much to his chagrin, though exams had been cancelled, it remained to be seen whether he would go on to the next year or not, and it was looking grim outside of his last-minute efforts.

The mood of the castle had darkened considerably. Those who were old enough to have some idea of what was going on made it perfectly clear without saying a word that the end of the term brought no good news with it. In what he could get out of the ancient mage as Hermione revived him from Voldemort's curse, picked up as she was by Anthony Goldstein, Dumbledore theorized the death of his host would delay their enemy's return for a short time, but as he possessed both the Philosopher's Stone and the knowledge of how to use it to full effect, it would not be long before he returned with his original body. He must have had something tying his soul to the world, which seemed to be a matter of great confusion, even for the Headmaster.

"Mister Weasley, it appears I cannot guarantee you are safe at Hogwarts, but I can promise that your questions will be answered in due time," he had said, carrying a stunned Neville and raising his wand to Apparate. It was then Ron realized they were already outside the castle's wards. True to her responsibilities, Professor McGonagall herded them back inside, catching and levitating an unruly Malfoy, who likely continued to mistrust her, even as the wandless witch who had been moonlighting as her was lead out by Aurors, sparing a wink for the young Slytherin on the way. Ron had no idea why he had earned attention of that manner, and it was entirely unimportant to him. As far as he was concerned, Neville's friendship with Malfoy cost him his sanity.

 _At least he's with his parents now._

In a light he had come to favor, it was something of a master-servant relationship, with the Hufflepuff having to refer to him by a nickname, the better to conceal his identity should the boy say anything about him. It was a sloppy plan, really, as Hermione was able to see through it rather quickly, but he knew little enough about what was going on with her. Losing their friend to insanity seemed to worsen her already darkening outlook.

"I don't have any hope, Ron. There's no one- there isn't any reason to believe this will work out," she had confessed to him one night. As they were still wary of many of the Hufflepuffs, they slept in the Restricted Section in the library, the Underground Chambers having been investigated by the school.

"Well, if we don't believe it'll work out-" he started, protesting.

"I know. I know. But that we're doomed without hope doesn't mean that hope is well-founded." Her point was valid and he knew he could hardly argue against it. Only days ago the two of them along with Goyle had been forced to recount what happened with Ebony and her virtual task force, and while Gabriel was expelled for nearly setting Hermione on fire, the Prefect successfully argued she had only used the jets of water to put out the fires, along with numerous other changes to the story the three of them told. With Ron's rule-breaking and Ebony's reports of Hermione researching dark magic, which predated the trial by a fair margin, the Ministry was a great deal easier to convince than the leadership of the school; though the school governors agreed with Dumbledore on expelling her and removing her from the grounds, her employment by the Department of Mysteries was never cancelled. Essentially, as his father explained to an indignant Ron, the Department Head had a degree of latitude no other office in the government enjoyed, as he could hardly be expected to explain his reasoning whenever he made a controversial decision.

Before leaving the meeting in the Headmaster's Office which his parents and the Malfoys had been made to attend to dismiss the false expulsion letters and formally apologize for the presence of the Inspectors, Ron angrily insisted that his record be cleared, if nothing else could be done. Lucius Malfoy had already insisted the same for his own son, going so far as to demand an Order of Merlin to counteract the inevitable harm done to the young Slytherin's reputation despite being cleared of charges. Apart from his explanation, Arthur Weasley was silent for much of the meeting, barely able to tolerate the other father, even before the return of You-Know-Who, as he said it.

Dumbledore ended up requesting an Order of Merlin, first class, but only for Neville Longbottom.

Ron numbered among one of the only Ministry brats not giving anyone who would listen 'the real version', straight from the Wizengamot at that. The school had insisted on handling the issue of dark magic internally for decades, but in his idealism Albus Dumbledore specifically refused to take the necessary measures that the Departments of Magical Law Enforcement and Mysteries had been suggesting, such as burning the books of dark magic kept in the Restricted Section or opening the school to further inspection. Though he supposedly stood against the use of the dark arts, he hid behind the tired narrative of magical knowledge being lost over time, and an again idealistic belief in freedom of thought and magic, arguing in multiple contexts that wizarding society could only leave evil behind voluntarily, that forcing people to think and use magic in a specific way was only another manner of evil.

As a result, Ron sent a stinging hex from around a convenient corner every time the occasion presented itself, which happened to be every time a Ministry brat or avid reader of the _Prophet_ would irk him about the version of events he believed.

He did not care for politics much himself, and philosophy was even more boring, but both matters seemed determined to have detrimental effects on his life if he ignored them as he would have preferred. In this way they were rather similar to his classes, which he was passing, thank you very much.

Though it was possibly the last thing he expected, Goyle told him to stay away from the Hufflepuffs and he had no problem believing the reason. The conspiracy being formed was real, and though the Slytherin grapevine did not have the consensus the whole House was consumed by it, their numbers were sufficient to avoid taking the risk. The latest estimate was that about half of the students in yellow and black were at least involved. As Head of House, Professor Sprout was apparently trying to quell the formation of sub-groups of any kind, but as clubs were hardly against school rules there was little to be done about it. What frustrated Ron was that it had apparently grown to where it was impossible not to take notice of it, but no one could really acknowledge its existence, or if that its actions.

Crabbe and Goyle appeared to respect his decision to come at Voldemort on three sides from a distance, to little effect that it was. Between the two of them, they knew a few jinxes and apparently a sleep assistance spell designed for old warlocks, but there was no way of getting close enough. From what he had seen, their enemy was a skilled duelist, but wands had a limited effective range in the sense that there seemed to be no way of aiming them. What little he knew of wandlore, mostly from Hermione, suggested wands were not really intended as weapons, but rather all-purpose tools with most of the 'light magic' being practical and versatile, and most of the 'dark magic' being highly specific and highly advanced.

As he stared at a History of Magic essay he had yet to complete, alone in the Gryffindor common room, it was clear that another wizarding war was beginning and he was hopelessly uninformed of the pieces on the board, let alone their functions. _Why am I even thinking about this? It isn't my job to play chess with Voldemort- he probably doesn't know me from anyone else._ Scabbers crawled up onto the table and began to gnaw at the corner of his parchment. In the months that had passed, he had little and less in the way of opportunities to feed him. He had taken to simply carrying the rat to the Great Hall once a day, perhaps as a way of repaying him, though he did not enjoy the looks he would get. Tossing the old vermin a lemon drop he had stolen from Dumbledore's office, he set about the conclusion of his essay.

 _Wizarding wars are so called because war between wizards in the modern age is the exception rather than the rule._ He remembered Hermione using that expression at one point. _Previously, magical Britain fought with her neighbors and before that had internal conflicts. Centuries before the Statute of Secrecy, Muggles had the same enemies as wizards. The reason for this is because what is good for the Muggles on our island is good for us and the Spanish Armada destroying the English Navy would not have been good for Elizabeth I, who tolerated our presence. In the last wizarding war, Britain fought alone against a faction of malcontents known as the Death Eaters. Everyone knows who led them-_

Ron briefly considered adding in something about the return and the consequent beginning of a new war, but this was a History essay, not one for Divination. _Got a long way to go before I have to deal with Trelawney._ His last encounter with her had been limited to a few words, but it was some numerical garbage. It was different from most of her 'visions', to be sure, but he gave it no more credit.

"Fifty is the number of time, forty and three are the numbers of death, already the silent movements chime, deep in the dark abyss- hold your breath." She had chanted. As part of the act, she proceeded to hold her breath until she was blue in the face, which caused her to collapse in mere moments, only to quickly collect herself and ask the students in the corridor what had happened. The older students were ignoring her, and Ron did the same.

When the closing feast came, his sense of dread was having a hard time telling if it was too late or too soon.

Appetite undeterred, he found himself tearing into some blood sausages with gravy and mash, which to Parvati's disgust he was mopping up with chips. It appeared she was having curry, which he had in London once, though she could not possibly have been concerned for time efficiency. If Seamus noticed anything, he revealed nothing, staring off into space, a half-finished shepard's pie in front of him. He broke his stare from the starry ceiling of the Great Hall only once when Ron asked if he would eat his flies' graveyard, and only to insist that it was called a Gur Cake. Looking around for Dean momentarily, he spotted the boy eating silently at the end of the Gryffindor table, where he had taken to sitting with the sixth and seventh-years who usually sat there.

Dumbledore rose once he seemed to perceive the time was right and most of the students respectfully stopped eating or at least quieted down. It was not every wizard who could contain a mountain of cursed fire, and a rare feat to kill an incarnation of Voldemort.

"Students, I would like to begin by confirming there will be some trouble with the resurrection of Lord Voldemort, and most likely the reunion of his former followers." _Why does he always say things like they're not that big of a deal?_ "The Ministry does not wish me to tell you this, but in the clear, present sight of myself and four students, he destroyed the mind of Neville Longbottom, though he had been aiming for Draco Malfoy." _I suppose I was too far away to count._ Across from him Parvati whispered to Seamus that this meant Dumbledore was trying to convince Lucius Malfoy not to rejoin the Death Eaters. Ron quietly concluded that the Patil family most likely subscribed to the Prophet, since by his estimation they were not in Britain the last time. _It also means Dumbledore doesn't buy Malfoy's excuse that he was imperiused._ Arthur Weasley had his own views on that, but his son did not choose to dwell on them presently.

"Delusional-" Seamus muttered, not finishing the sentence.

"The loss of one of our students was preventable, as was the death of my friend, Nicolas Flamel." _Not if you broke the Philosopher's Stone._ "The school governors were not responsible for this, as Qurinius Quirrell was not possessed by Voldemort at the time he was hired. The school did not know there was a powerful dark wizard on the grounds, and if the Inspectors from the Department of Mysteries knew, they said nothing; they did nothing in favor of pursuing a twelve-year old witch reading books in the library. From what I have learned since surfacing from my duties as a shield against the mind arts, I have decided that the school will accept no more inspection, as it appears their controlling interest was not the discovery of dark wizards. Before their scheduled appearance in three years' time, I shall make the arrangements that this privilege be overturned. Critics have made me aware that the Department may send Inspectors without notifying the school or the Ministry proper." There was some confusion as he paused. "I would certainly like to see them try."

Ron smirked. Out of the three Inspectors, one was dead, one was on her way to Azkaban, and a third had rather cleverly gotten off scot-free, but he doubted many other public servants would like those odds, tomorrow or three years later. He had half expected the Headmaster to say something along the lines of 'I may be something of a duelist myself', which would have won some laughter out of those who did not get the message the first time, but in the pause, his eyes were drawn to Snape, whose positively murderous look seemed to support Dumbledore's warning. _That's if it's still a warning and not a thinly veiled threat._ He was reminded of a phrase of his father's, 'If one proves insufficient, the other will prove necessary'.

"As a final note, I encourage all of you never to lose hope. Neville Longbottom grew up without parents because his mother and father refused to quit. They refused to divulge the location of their son despite the dark magic wreaked upon them by the Lestranges, and because of that the boy was saved. Their sacrifice is something he will never know, and now he will not remember their names. This, however, is precisely what defines the heroism of the Longbottoms I knew- they fought bravely in the face of certain failure, certain doom, and without sparing a thought for recognition. They will never know that for their example, young Neville forced his friend Draco Malfoy to the ground, preventing him from hurling himself into a column of Fiendfyre which would have been preferable to the horror he now endures."

Ron gave a moment's thought to wondering if it was cowardly to want to die, or if it would have been more cowardly not to at least consider it. In his thinking, death was always an uncertainty. It was never so much a choice between dying and insanity, but more often a choice between running the risk of dying and the wiser path, albeit the coward's way out. Thinking about it a different way, he decided he would sooner brave the chance of death than brave the chance of insanity. He furrowed his brow as it irked him that he was essentially agreeing with Malfoy, even if indirectly.

Dumbledore was concluding his speech in the background of his mind, though it appeared the assembled students hardly desired to follow in Neville's example, even if an old warlock would say kind words over them. Ron knew it was more than that, and he could not deny the heroism present in the boy's actions, but if he had been destined to lose his Hufflepuff friend, he would have preferred losing him for someone else.

"What did you mean earlier?" Ron asked, levitating some of his belongings into his trunk while he tossed the rest manually.

"When?" Seamus asked. Dean was already gone.

"Well, when you said 'delusional'. D'you reckon Dumbledore is?" The other wizard seemed to be thinking about it.

"Not really- I just think it's delusional to expect Lucius Malfoy to shed his skin, same as anyone with his 'ead on straight." He magically closed his trunk. "Waste o' time if you ask me."

"Yeah, I guess. Probably even dear old Draco is still going to want to help." _I reckon Dumbledore could've been trying to convince more than one Malfoy._

As the two of them lugged their trunks down the stairs, they met Parvati in the common area. She and Seamus seemed to be getting along remotely well, probably out of some shared concern for Dean, whom he had not spared the time of day. _Must be nice not having anything else to do._ Even as he mentally grumbled, it occurred to him that his motivation for investigating the troll had been the boy's death, but upon his apparent resurrection, he had said nary an unnecessary word to him.

 _Maybe he really is different now. It could be the cursed unicorn blood._

Another thought occurred.

 _Maybe he no longer recognizes me._


	31. The Train Home

The compartment contained Padma and Anthony when she went in, though the latter had some allergy medication to take.

"There isn't a magical fix for that, is there?" Hermione asked the other witch.

"No, not here or in India. My parents looked rather extensively before leaving." _They wanted to make sure they weren't leaving anything behind._

"But you can go there any time you want, right?"

"International Apparation is complicated. Many countries have extensive warding on the borders to keep people from just crossing them whenever." A mental note read that India had trouble with its neighbors on the occasion. "My parents don't have Apparation licenses, they just use the Floo network to get to their jobs.

"And what's work for them?" she asked, cursing herself the moment after.

"They work in a fire call center for malfunctioning brooms, invisibility cloaks, and the like." Padma responded without affect. Hermione retained a straight face, forcing herself not to react. "I'm only joking, that's what they did back home. Now my dad works in a potion store and my mother is taking English classes."

 _It never fails._

"Please don't ever tell Ron that," she asked quietly, containing her internal scream.

"It isn't as if we are ashamed of it. My dad doesn't think 'is this what a walking stereotype would do' before doing something."

"Well, I would hope not, it's merely that he and I have a disagreement-" she stopped short, remembering that she had no plans to return to Hogwarts. By rights it would matter little if the Gryffindor counted it as a win.

"Oh, that's why Fred and George asked us to turn it up to eleven."

"Wait-" Hermione's expression broke.

"It was only a few days in, perhaps three. I believe they overheard you and their brother having a row and they decided it would be spectacularly amusing to go around to various minority students and bribe them with experimental joke sweets. They offered me something that made your nose bleed and said I just had to be as stereotypical as possible. They had already gotten to Cho and Anthony."

The confused witch laughed after a long pause.

"Oh, thank- No one could _really_ have fit into all those stereotypes that well. I should have figured," she decided, knocking her own forehead with a smile. "So what do your parents really do?"

There was a tactile pause.

"Hermione, I turned down their offer."

"Excuse me, I have to toss myself from the train," she muttered after staring blankly for a minute.

"No, tell me why it's so vitally important that Ron loses the debate," Padma said, an expression of vexation on her face. "If you die, I don't find out."

"Well, it's just that I think he's a bit of a dolt," Hermione responded, sitting back down.

"Most boys our age are."

"Well, I suppose, but he acts a great deal smarter than he is." In her experience it was a bit easier to get along with boys than girls, and in truth she found Neville to be rather clever, if forgetful.

"And how smart do you think you are?"

"Smart enough," she responded, glowering. There was no use pretending to be modest about it. Padma let it by, seemingly unconcerned. "When do they drop the act?" Hermione asked, filling the air.

"I don't know, it probably won't be long- to be honest I doubt Anthony needed much persuasion, though when he insisted on a controlling interest in whatever they were making, they told him he needn't start acting already." The Indian witch smiled at her own memory. "He made a face like he'd been hurt."

The remainder of the train ride was spent joking with Anthony, who seemed up for it until the jokes started to involve him. Lost in thought one moment, Hermione considered that perhaps this was what it meant to be at home among friends, her fellow Ravenclaws. It occurred to her that apart from the celebration of favorite virtues, the Founders of Hogwarts may have had simpler motivations in grouping the students.

The trolley came by and she ignored it, deciding she had done enough spending in galleons, which was a stronger currency than the pound at any rate. Thinking on her parents, she knew they always wished she would reach her fullest potential, but she doubted they would want her to be in constant danger or unhappy with what her potential made her. Before leaving, she remembered they were still rather unsure of the whole 'magic' development, and they reminded her that they were already happy with her the way she was, and no matter what happened, she would not disappoint them.

Hermione thought of her wand, which she kept now in her robes, but was all the same a part of her. Snapping Ebony's wand had taken a degree of conviction she had not expected- after all she was an enemy, and one she had considered killing even before it became necessary. The fact that she had not been sacked from her job at the Department of Mysteries grated on her sensibilities and made the world easier to leave. The charm of it vanished rather abruptly when meeting Nicolas Flamel, now that she thought of it. All the interesting history, the facts and details that seemed to realize a fantastical world before her very eyes as she read about it, even magic itself, which had previously appeared to be the answer to all of the dead ends of human knowledge- it seemed like a rather childish dream. She kept her frown from surfacing as she thought of the alchemist, the man without a soul, at least according to him. In her mind she supposed it made no material difference if he only meant he had surely given up his soul by doing whatever it was he had to do to make the Stone, the font of the Elixer.

When at last she got off the train, having changed out of her robes and stored her wand in a small handbag, she remembered all the magical moving parts in the story of how it got there, how the location of Hogwarts had to be permanently obscured to protect the students, and how the train and its tracks had to be carefully warded and covered in glamour all the way there. Narrowing her eyes in suspicion, it was as if her memories and the magical world itself had conspired to convince her to stay, preying on what remained of her sense of wonder, shattered though it had been. Taking a last look at the locomotive before passing through the glamour that served as a barrier, which she was sure was covered with Muggle-repelling wards, Hermione resolved to keep the books of magic she had. _No sense keeping the wand and the cauldron if I can't learn to use either of them._

Seeing her parents for the first time in what felt like years, she set down her things and ran to them, hugging her father wordlessly and feeling the ever-present warmth of her wand against her ribs as she pressed against him. Obtaining the momentary feeling of stability she had been craving, she took a moment to stare at them happily.

"How was school, Hermione?" Her father asked. She had every expectation he would imagine it to be a very different, jarring experience.

"Well, that's... complicated," she decided, avoiding the question to a degree. If ever, she would rather not answer it in a public space. As they went to the car, she explained that while on summer holiday, and really whenever she was not in the castle, or any other strictly magical place, she was not to use her wand, and ideally not brew potions either. Her mother nodded with understanding as her father heaved her worldly belongings into the trunk. Looking at it, she decided it was a trunk for boarding school, to be sure, but she doubted she packed nearly as much as the other girls, if what she had seen in the dormitory was any indication.

"How are your friends, dear?" came her mother's first question in the car. It was impossible not to notice that none of the questions had been about academics. Perhaps it was unfair that plenty of her friends had parents who could help them with the material, but there was always some unfairness. She could have been born blind, and it would not have been her fault, but it would not have been the fault of anyone else.

"They're... well, my friend Neville, he can't come back," she started, suddenly taking an interest in the handbag where she kept her wand. "He was... well, I'm not sure what happened to him exactly, but he's in a magical hospital now."

"A magical- When did this happen?" She guessed her father did not reasonably expect to figure out every aspect of the wizarding world, including its medical facilities.

"Towards the end of the term-" _Only a week or so ago-_ "I don't want to talk about it," she muttered defensively. _I can't very well tell them it was a dark wizard- they'll think me mad for not going home sooner, or telling them, or anything._

"Hermione... you know we've always wanted you to do the best you can," her father started, only a small amount of uncertainty in his voice. She could forgive it. "But eventually, you're going to have to pick where you want to specialize." _Is he talking about-_ "When you started talking about skipping levels in school, your mother and I knew that sooner or later, all the best schools would want you. Within them, all the best programs would want you- and you'd have to decide whether you wanted to be the best mathematician in the world or the premier research scientist or really anything." He sighed, looking at the circular rear-view mirror before changing lanes. "My point is that even if you were to be the best at one specific thing, even if that one thing were where only you could truly excel- we'd not know about it. The truth is, I didn't know whether I'd be a better dentist or a mathematician- I just had to decide. I chose what I wanted to do."

"There were things my parents wanted me to do," her mother chimed in. "I'm sure I could have been good at them, but I just loved dentistry from the moment I started working on it. Don't feel like you owe it to anyone to come back. Don't feel like you owe it to anyone to pursue this one thing specifically."

Hermione thought about it, and what her parents told her made perfect sense. _It also gives me the perfect way out- no need to explain what happened to Neville._

"I mean, I suppose I might have it in me to become the best ballerino the world ever saw," Her father joked. "I can imagine some poof in a pink suit would be disappointed, but I'm quite happy with what I do." She felt it appropriate to laugh at the joke, to lighten the conversation, but her laughter was cut short by a moderately disapproving glare from her mother.

When at last they pulled up to their home in the outskirts of London she felt a relief she had not known in what seemed like years. Taking her things back up to her room, she thought of the last year of school she had between getting her letter on her birthday and leaving for Hogwarts. In her excitement, time passed by like a blur and though she easily completed assignments and excelled in her notes, she wondered if her absorption had really been up to par. _Well, at least I can look forward to not getting thrown across rooms by magic and consequently knocked on the head._ Hermione supposed someone could still knock her on the head the old fashioned way, and it was illegal for her to use her wand to defend herself unless her life was in danger, but she was back in the normal world, where there was some sort of consequence for random acts of violence.

If one thing was certain, she had not formed any lasting acquaintances, though in fairness she knew she would be leaving the normal school. By contrast, she had every expectation to stay at Hogwarts the full seven years, and it seemed the other students just ... wanted to be her friends. Hermione had never tried _too_ hard to make them before, but she knew she was not trying on the train or really any time after that. In retrospect, when she was on her wits' end from the strain and self-inflicted sleep deprivation, she was being rather abrasive and, to an extent, mean to people who had never wished her ill. Ron was a special kind of tactless and she could argue he deserved at least a part of it, and she had no reason to trust Goyle, but Neville was a polite boy and she already regretted treating him as she had.

 _The knowledge that I was leaving was never a good enough excuse._ If anything, she really should have treated them better knowing that was the last they would see of her. She liked to think of herself as better than what she became in the last month or so of her time at Hogwarts, though at least she had learned her lesson about that. _It's possible that having friends was just a new thing for me. I'll do better at a normal school, where I'm really on a level playing field with everyone, though maybe I need to skip a year in the long run._

Her parents had already arranged a few summer classes in the hopes that she would make the missed material up in short order, having every confidence her performance next year would be even better than that of her classmates. Reading some of her books, she decided it was well within her reach and there was well and truly no academic or social downside in her decision. While it was good to get a fresh start and not have people immediately characterize her and decide they want nothing to do with her, she could get a fresh start at any institution- and with her experience, it would be even better than the last one.

Brimming with confidence, she went to her regularly scheduled doctor's appointment, having been gone for months on end. It was discovered that there was nothing wrong with her, which is what she expected after her injuries had been magically healed, though of course she revealed nothing. Though she knew all about their world and had no plans to return to it, it would not do for a doctor to find there was something wrong with her mind. Even if people did believe her, she could not see things improving either for her or for her former friends. It would also likely make her the target of magical retaliation.

All the same, she had plans specifically excluding the possibility of going back.

After supper with her parents, celebrating her return home, she waited in Hyde Park while the two of them worked out a minor errand, probably a belated Christmas gift, as they really had previously possessed no means to send her presents. Owl post was the only way of sending things to Hogwarts, and they thought it would be cruel to weigh the bird down with any book worthy of Hermione's attention span. She smiled, thinking of how considerate her parents were. In fairness, she had seen owls carry things they would not normally be able to carry, like broomsticks, and suspected they possessed some kind of magical strength and likely speed as well.

On her parents' faith in her to wander out alone, she decided it was well-founded, as she had proven herself sufficiently independent that she could spend a moment or so in solitude before they would meet up with her. She was by no means meandering randomly, she had every intention of finding a favored bench and watching the birds, some of her first companions. To her surprise there was already a man sitting in it.

He wore a brown suit with appropriate shoes, but to her surprise he had what looked to be a women's Derby hat on his head, and the paper he was reading looked rather odd. - _a wizard._ Remembering something Professor Snape had said about wizards being unable to blend in with normal people, and that Hyde Park had been open to the public since 1637, she supposed it was to be expected that a wizard would be wearing an inappropriate headdress, and that he would be taking her customary seat. The strange man glanced at her momentarily.

"What?" _Should I pretend to be a normal person?_

"I'm sorry, sir, it's nothing."

"It's the hat, isn't it? I knew something was off. I did make sure the color matched." _In fairness, it does._

"I - I wouldn't know-"

"Don't bother. You get the _Prophet_?" he asked, referring to the wizarding newspaper he was holding.

"No." _How does he know?_

"Only a bit of minor Legilimency. If it's illegal it shouldn't be." She approached cautiously. "I was really only looking on the surface- no harm in that, is there?"

"Not in this case, I suppose."

"Well you wouldn't believe what's on at Hogwarts right now. Are you a student?" Hermoine chose not to answer. "Seems Dumbledore's allowed them to a certain collection of books on the condition they won't bother him about it again."

"What books?" she asked, her mind going straight to dark magic.

"All the works mentioning Nicolas Flamel and the Philosopher's Stone."

The color drained from Hermione's face, but she calmed down as she left to find her parents. _As if I ever needed any more reason not to go back..._


	32. Epilouge: A Day at Saint Mungo's

Hannah was alone by the bedside of her classmate Neville Longbottom.

She was sure it should have been within her expectations that the rest of his friends would be busy, and some likely visited already. It was an odd thought, visiting him before the Healers had subdued him and he calmed down, under the effects of the potions. Presently, he stared blankly up at the ceiling, as if impossibly lost in thought. Having asked the professionals, they told her he would likely never be normal again, but in a belligerent, uncontrollable state it was impossible for people to visit him, which is what he would prefer to the alternative.

"Has he had any visitors?" she asked the Healer on staff. They had yet to put him with his parents.

"You're the first. You must like him," she said, poking Hannah's arm, possibly half joking. The Hufflepuff was unable to tell.

"Stop it... I just think someone should visit him. I know him from Herbology."

"Were you in the same House?" Hannah decided to hope the questions would help them with Neville.

"Yeah," she said simply. "I don't know if anyone else from Hufflepuff will be here." The House had all but disowned the mad wizard. Most people simply decided to forget about him, though Ernie Macmillan had gone so far as to declare him a traitor. She remembered her conversation with Susan earlier in the year.

"Hannah?" the girl had said as they were working on Transfiguration. "Have you been talking to Neville?"

"Haven't you?" she remembered asking. "He and I work together in Herbology. He's always forgetting things, but not when it relates to plants. He might have a gift." She was no slouch herself, but it would not do to brag.

"Well, I'm only saying this because I consider you a really good friend and I really like you." Hannah moved a lock of hair out of her eyes as she waited for the other witch to finish. "Ebony's not... been saying good things about him."

"Oh. Well she's been really nice to us and she seems like she wants us all to be good friends, but I'm not sure she's right about Neville. He's a good friend to me," she had said, realizing that in truth she had not really thought about it.

"Well, what kind of friend is he if he doesn't like your friends? -or what if your friends don't like him?"

"I don't know, that'd be a bit sad, but why would that matter? Don't you have a friend in Slytherin and one in Gryffindor? They probably don't like each other," she stated knowingly.

"Well, not any longer. I'm afraid I've had to take a side-"

"It's not taking sides, you can disagree-"

"No- Ebony says friends like that are unhealthy. My aunt's the head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement and she says it's best not to associate with dangerous people- or people who could be guilty of something, because the Aurors might think you were involved too," Susan explained hastily.

"Guilty of what-"

"Hannah, everyone knows the Slytherins are blood purists- and that can't be allowed." She shifted as she spoke. "Also, that girl Hermione- Neville's friend, has been looking into dark magic. Ebony saw her. His other friends have broken more rules than I can count."

She frowned. Hermione Granger was something of a mystery; she kept to herself and studied unless she was in class, in which case she was about as talkative as one could get. Hannah could easily imagine a girl like that being interested in dark arts- a book casually falling off a bookcase late at night, the Ravenclaw goes to pick it up when something catches her eye. It was a question- _Do you want to know all there is to know-_ Hannah stepped out of her wondering. _I really need to get it under control at some point._

"Well, all right, I've seen him with a few of the Slytherins. What's wrong with that?"

"They're blood purists and he's a pure blood;" Susan stared at her a moment as if she were meant to put something together.

"Yes?" she conceded.

"Hannah, pure bloods have to try extra hard to divorce themselves from blood purism. They know that people might think they're purists themselves, and by not rejecting it-"

"They're saying it's unfair? Honestly, what does it matter? Let them have Slytherin; there are three other houses that take Muggle-borns."

"The pure bloods are benefiting from blood purism- everyone assumes good things about them. They have an advantage over everyone-"

"Well if everyone says the Slytherins are blood purists and everyone's a blood purist-" Susan almost seemed to jump a bit as Hannah spoke, possibly making the same connection. As her mother informed her, she was good at making connections, just not always connections that were there. She did her best to be aware of the tendency, and as a result was managing to get passing notes on most of her assignments.

She remembered the conversation ended not long after, mostly that her friends seemed to hate each other. Ernie was nice to her and seemed an interesting, driven fellow, and Susan was a good companion even if she was, well, Susan. A smile passed over her expression as she looked down at Neville.

The Healer had gone. She had only asked a few questions, possibly guessing that Hannah would be back, having stealthily taken her diary and read the parts about resolving to visit the formerly thrashing, flailing wizard. Looking at her unopened schoolbag, she decided it was an unlikely possibility. As far as she knew, no one knew the contents of her diary, which she used to keep track of her ideas, mostly. There was a degree to which she would need it to keep track of her life, and to that end she would write assignments in between everything else.

If granted another chance, she would have recommended her friend do the same.

For want of aught else to do, she went to see his parents, Frank and Alice Longbottom, though to the rest of the world their names had lost all meaning. There she ran into an old woman, who was arguing with a Healer.

"You've moved him into a dark room with no windows, and to think, good people take their patients here-"

"Please, Madam-"

"That's Lady Augusta Longbottom to you, and I'll thank you to remember it." The old witch did not seem in a state to thank anyone. Hannah nervously looked past to a man and a woman walking around their room absently. "In any case, the lack of sunlight in this room is certain to worsen my son's condition- and being separated from his child-"

"Lady Longbottom, he's not ready, he's... lucid, but he hasn't been cleared for visitors of your son's condition," the Healer argued admirably. "We still don't know much about the boy's condition, only that a dark curse broke down his mind _entirely-_ if anything, he would envy his parents having lost their minds through extreme suffering, as at least we have some understanding of what happened to them." He sighed, directing her to the visitation staff for further questions.

"Are you one of Neville's little friends?" the grandmother asked, seemingly out of nowhere, giving the Healer a chance to escape.

"Yes, mad- Lady Longbottom. My name is Hannah Abbott."

"Well, I should say it's a wonder to meet you, Hannah. I had expected my grandson would not have made any friends until third or fourth year." She could imagine where Neville had acquired his confidence, or lack thereof. Being put down by his grandmother's expectations from a young age with little to no interaction from the outside world, being watched at all hours of the night by a werewolf, taking comfort in keeping watch over the plants, something she told him that even he could not screw up- _wait, where did I get that bit about the werewolf?_ "Pity he seems to have no friends apart from you." Augusta Longbottom lamented, breaking her out of her train of thought.

"Well, he has other friends, they just haven't come to see him yet," Hannah protested. "I'm sure they have their reasons for-"

"Hannah, has your mother ever told you that you have quite the imagination?"

"I believe so, but-"

"Well, do your best to toss out any conclusions you just imagined that you don't know. I expect you think there's some way of helping Neville with his condition, but there isn't. The Healers have done all the research possible and they have concluded his insanity is here to stay," she said with an oddly cold voice. "These are the facts."

Hannah gulped.

"Rather unkind, aren't they?" She nodded. "Don't go telling anyone I mean for you not to imagine a way of helping Neville, if that was your intent. Would that the Healers showed the same amount of will." she commented, her voice returning to a more ordinary tone. "Merely confine your imaginations to the limitation the facts provide. If there is a solution to my son's madness, it is not currently known to medical magic."

Hannah imagined it would take longer than an afternoon to stop coming up with scenarios in which some obvious solution would present itself.

In a darker corner of her mind, she imagined that both she and Neville's grandmother were simply refusing to admit defeat where it was not simply certain, but had already taken place. They held onto an irrational hope, denying the truth because it was scarier. Mentally shaking her head, she decided there was nothing more to support the notion that there was no solution out there than there was supporting the existence of a solution.

"I'll try, Lady Longbottom. I can't promise anything, but I'll try."

The stately old witch responded with a curt nod before disappearing.

Neville's parents were graced with the occasional visitor, as she learned from the sheet next to the door of their room. She recognized a few of the names, mostly because they were from pure families who fought in the great Wizarding War, and she expected many of them were former comrades. Her father had abstained from the conflict, having fallen for her Muggle mother in the middle of things and essentially eloped with her, much to the chagrin of the blood purists. Despite being scion to a noble line, one of the Sacred Twenty-Eight, Apollodorus Abbott had no wish to preserve his line to the end of time; there was no way of persuading him it mattered at all. From what she had heard, he spent much of his youth without a care, an odd behavior for a Seer. His charmingly confident outlook on life won the heart of her mother, then by the name of Verna Tanner, feeling as if an arrow had been shot through it.

His death was a shock to everyone apart from him, having predicted it at the age of twenty five.

From what his entirely not regretful widow told her, he would tell people futures they wanted to hear. A common half-blood heard he would find his true love, and he found her. An older pure blood and his wife were worried they would not conceive, but her father told them they would, and they were successful. Of the few words with which he left her mother, still heavy with an unborn Hannah, her favorite was an explanation for his success as a Seer.

"Many people stop trying too early- they've got a problem and they can't see past it. Perhaps it's not always the best thing to do to press on a little longer, but from time to time it's all that's needed."

Her mother knew he was not a true Seer, or if he had the Gift it was a rare thing indeed he spoke with it. He predicted his own death only with the assistance of the Healers at Saint Mungo's and then begged them to destroy the records, lest his parents find out he was not long for the world. It did not, in any way, bother him, even with a baby he was leaving behind.

Hannah's mother moved on from the loss, having accepted it before it happened, but letting the tears come all the same. Despite this she never had any desire to marry again, as no other man could have taken the place of Apollodorus Abbott. After his death she decided their son or daughter would grow up with every part of his or her magical heritage, at an old friend's place if need be, but only after knowing who her father was as a man. Only when she understood what truly made him unique would she learn of the minor detail of the strange world from whence he came- the effects it would have on her life included.

In this way she grew up similarly to some of her classmates, forming an odd kinship with Justin Finch-Fletchy, unaware of his magical abilities to the extent where his parents had him down for Eton, a prestigious all-boys school in Muggle Britain, or the normal world as they had known it. It was no secret he was from a wealthy family, though she had no idea why Draco Malfoy chose to ignore that. It appeared even the poorest of the pure bloods was better in his eyes than a Muggle-born from money, even though he might know how to watch a ballet without falling asleep.

Hannah really had no idea about Draco or why Neville seemed inclined to hang about with him as often as he did. It was probably better if she refrained from making up an explanation, her friend's grandmother had only just reminded her that she was a dolt, which she grasped at the age of six when she blew up a tea kettle. She remembered having been upset with her mother about something trivial, staring at the boiling, noisy kettle, and finding it on the ground in pieces before she could even process what had taken place. As she removed the scalding ceramic pieces from her hair, she invented an elaborate tale about a cat coming in through the window and knocking the kettle off the hot plate, then leaving as quickly as it had entered. The story failed to convince her mother, who had her on her hands and knees scrubbing the floor and the stove, then left her in charge of replacing the kettle.

Eventually Hannah would realize that despite the elaborate story she spun, she ignored the unmistakable guilt in her voice.

When at last she decided to leave Saint Mungo's, where she expected to go home by Floo, as her mother could hardly drive to magical London, the way out seemed shorter. She left a plant of Neville's on his end table, waved to the Healer who had been talking to her before, and signed out. It was too soon to decide a career just yet, but as she walked the busy street in Diagon Alley, she had the impression medical magic would be rewarding work, except possibly in hopeless cases where the patient was only going to die.

Thinking of such cases made her think of the Longbottom family, whom for some reason she had excluded from hopelessness, against anything resembling reason. Looking at things the way its matriarch had, the family's situation was permanent, and she had absolutely no expectation of that reality changing. It was a conclusion that made perfect sense. Hannah almost smiled.

 _Well, that may be the smart thing, but I'm a dolt._

Taking the Floo in the front office, she surfaced in her mother's home in Sheffield. It appeared she was out, so there would be no tearful reunion as there had been during the Christmas holiday, as odd of a meeting as it had been. Since going to Hogwarts, she had learned much about accidental magic, which was essentially outbursts of emotion taking control of a child's abilities. Usually this manifested itself in the form of granting a simple wish.

In her case it had only gotten her into trouble.

Hannah had decided not to discuss it, almost entirely because she had no idea how to broach the subject- would she say 'You should have been more supportive when I did magic by accident!', taking the accusing tone? She imagined her mother would hardly be impressed. It was entirely within the realm of possibilities that her mother was unaware she did magic, and possibly the existence of accidental magic in general. If that were the case, she had been right to assume Hannah had broken the kettle by other means.

Only hours ago she had moved back in, late at night, careful not to use magic as she had grown accustomed to doing. Her trunk and bags were heavy, but she supposed that she packed them. Getting them up the stairs to the third floor flat, she distracted herself with thoughts about what it would be like for everyone to have to carry what he or she packed, what it would be like to live at Hogwarts with only what she would like to carry, and finally, as always, what it would be like to have a father. Sleep last night had been fitful, the return of a wizard whose reign of terror frightened even the teachers weighing heavily on her mind.

As she wondered if her mother could remember it, Verna Abbott herself came in, setting down her car keys as always before turning to see Hannah in the middle of the room.

 _Looks like I'll have the tearful reunion I needed anyway._

 **A/N: I would like to thank everyone for reading and reviewing my work, which you're still welcome to do even if it's been years since I posted it. Check out the sequel, Slytherin's Monster, which I have been posting at regular intervals, as always.**


End file.
